


The Return of Summer

by Solioquyforme



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-14 07:06:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 46,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10531407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solioquyforme/pseuds/Solioquyforme
Summary: Lhyrie returns to Kattegat after 5 years. She must reunite with old friends and adapt to the changes in Kattegat. Follows season 4b





	1. Chapter 1

It felt good to be home.

Kattegat gleamed off the fjord as they crossed over the final hill of their long journey. Dust kicked up under the horse and cart she was walking alongside of, adding another layer to Lhyrie’s matted hair. She gave the horse an encouraging pat and shuffled the belongings of the cart so they would not tip when it rolled over a rock. Her mother was leading the horse along in front of her and gave an exalted sigh. 

In the 5 years they have been gone, Kattegat grew to an amazing network of streets and shops. Vendors stretched out across the plains that used to grow into lakes when the rains were high. Docks were crammed onto the small beach and collided with the cliffs that entombed the city, they stretched far out into the fjord with a boat at nearly every post. The woods even seemed different, the stream a little bigger, the grasses greener. Huts and farms dotted the path to the city for more than a day’s walk, increasing as they journeyed closer. All who they passed mentioned Ragnar’s return.

That was the reason they left and now the reason they returned. After the raids in Paris failed and Ragnar disappeared, her mother and stepfather left Kattegat, fearing that with the King gone, the city was vulnerable to attack without proper defenses in leadership, despite Ragnar’s sons and Queen Aslaug. They got the Queen’s permission, of course, to leave and venture out - to learn new skills, her stepfather said. That, among other things. 

And so they traveled, selling medicines and treating the ill. Lhyrie’s mother was a healer although her father and then stepfather disapproved of such actions. In Kattegat, her mother was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Aslaug and a midwife. Lhyrie learned each herb and fruit that gained health and how to use them to their fullest potential. She also trained with her stepfather, fashioning her own shield and sword. She would make it so that she would not be killed in battle like her father and brother before her. 

They stayed mainly in Scandinavia, but did venture to parts of Frankia. Everywhere they heard the tales of Ragnar Lothbrok. Some true, some fantasy but when whispers grew that Ragnar had come out of hiding, they knew they must return to Kattegat. 

Lhyrie was excited to see her old friends, to see how much they have grown, as she herself had grown into a woman. Lhyrie spent much time with Ragnar’s young sons, being close in age Ubbe and Hvitserk. Her best friend Sigvi would probably be married by now. What could she possibly say to everyone? With how much she had seen, so much she had learned, she wasn’t sure if she was the same person. 

“Before we find your brother,” Afin, Lhyrie’s stepfather said, “we must visit the King.” 

“Of course,” said her mother. 

Lhyrie adjusted the belt around her waist and tried to smooth out the dust and wrinkles in her dress. She took a large breath and attempted to hide the nerves she suddenly felt. All she wanted to do was bath before she met anyone who would have remembered her, much less the King and his sons. She ran her fingers through the ends of her hair and tied half of it with a cord. She gave the horse another encouraging pat and nearly skipped through the gates of Kattegat. 

“Welcome,” Aslaug said, gesturing them before her. She stood from her chair and descended the few steps to meet them at eye level. “Hiedrun!” She exclaimed and wrapped her mother in her long arms. “It has been far too long, my friend! Is this Lhyrie?” She asked, turning toward her. Aslaug took Lhyrie’s face in her palms and studied it sweetly. “By the Gods, you could have songs written of your beauty!”   
“Thank you, my lady,” Lhyrie responded, blushing. The dirt caked upon her face and fingers proved otherwise and she tried not to look at them while Aslaug was in front of her.   
“Here, you must be weary. Sit and let me get you something to drink.” Aslaug gestured to a servant to bring cups and ale.   
“Is it true that Ragnar is back?” Afin asked, after taking a large gulp of ale. It is the only questioned that bothered him. Would they leave again if the rumors were false?   
Lhyrie and her mother shifted uncomfortably in their seats at the large table in the center of the hall. Lhyrie looked around at the new furnishings the hall had. A large chandelier made out of antlers hung above them, the thrones moved directly across from the doors, drapes around the edges of the hall to provide privacy when needed. She knew it was brash for someone so withdrawn to ask an intimate question such as that. Aslaug smiled and sipped silently before answering.  
“Yes, my husband is back,” she said. “Although right now I do not know where he is. I might say he is with my sons or sunbathing. Are you looking to raid again, son of Erlend?”  
“Yes, my lady,” he answered, somewhat sheepishly.   
“Have your travels taught you that which you wanted to learn?” Silence filled the hall, all but the puttering of servant’s feet. “Then it would please you to know that Bjorn is seeking to explore the Mediterranean then.”  
“We have heard of its wonders.”  
“And I would like to hear of all your stories,” Aslaug said, as the doors to the hall were swung open.  
Sunlight poured in the rather dark hall, followed by boisterous laughter and playful shoving of bodies. Lhyrie shifted in her seat to look at the group of men who entered.   
“Mother!” One boomed, grinning widely and staggering about. He seemed to completely ignore the others in the room and made his way past those seated to his mother’s side, wrapping her in a half-sided hug and planted a kiss on her cheek. He looked about Lhyrie’s age, but a child gleamed in his blue eyes.   
The other men scattered, dropping their shields and swords along the walls of the hall and scrapped at plates of food instantly brought out to them. They wore hardened leather, like one would wear to fight but without the sweat on their brow and bloodied tunics. A bloodied nose or bruised eye signaled training. Lhyrie had seen and cared for many men over the years, she knew the look of fierce training over fierce battle.   
One man stopped in his tracks when he spotting the strangers, freezing mid smile and sentence. His ice blue eyes shone as though he had seen a ghost. His hand lingered over the ax on his belt.   
“Ubbe! Come here!” Aslaug called, motioning over the man frozen in the doorway. “Hvitserk, do you remember Afin and Heidrun, our healers, and their daughter Lhyrie?”   
“Of course,” Hvitserk said, moving to clasp arms with Afin. “It has been too long.” Hvitserk moved to welcome Heidrun and gave Lhyrie a large hug. “It looks as though I have outgrown you at last, Heirik’s daughter.”   
“And you will be as tall as Yggdrasil soon, Hvitserk,” Lhyrie answered as he picked her up and spun her around. When Hvitserk placed her down, she looked toward Ubbe, still in the doorway, illuminated by the sun. “Hello Ubbe.”  
“Hello, Lhyrie… Afin and Heidrun,” he answered dryly, unmoving from his place. He was still as tense as when he first spotted them.   
“Where is your father?” Queen Aslaug asked, looking at her second son, who grabbed a horn of ale from a servant passing by.  
“I believe he met with Bjorn, but I do not know for certain,” Hvitserk mumbled, trying not to spill his ale. “Did Mother tell you about mine and Bjorn’s journey to the Mediterranean?” he asked the visitors.   
“You are sailing with Bjorn?” Afin asked.   
“Yes. King Harald, his brother and their armies will arrive very soon. I would love to see you join us, Afin.”   
“If it pleases the Gods,” he answered, clinking glasses with Hvitserk. “Skol.”  
“Skol,” they raised their glasses in unison.   
Lhyrie drank and peered back to the doorway to see Ubbe. He was no longer standing there, slipped away while they were talking, though a guard ran through the doors out of breath as she looked back.   
“Budlungr, King Harald’s ship have been spotted coming up the fjord!”  
“The Gods have seen your return, my lost friends! I must go and welcome them, but tonight we will feast!” He gulped the last of his ale before running out the hall to join the guard, clapping him on the back before sprinting again.   
Queen Aslaug also rose from her seat. “And I must ready, as well,” she said. “If you need accommodations, you will gladly get them here.”  
“Thank you, my lady -” Lhyrie’s mother started.  
“We will be staying with Heidrun’s brother until we find another house,” Afin finished.   
“I will see you tonight, my friends, for the feast.”  
They rose and gave a remaining hug to the Queen. Aslaug paused once more on Lhyrie’s face, she didn’t speak, just lingered silently. Lhyrie couldn’t place what emotion Aslaug was trying to hide before she turned to walk through a drapery.

Lhyrie scrubbed her skin until she was pink and raw. The water was freezing, not warmed yet by the summer’s sun, though she stayed as long as she could, trying to wipe away the last remnants of foreign travel from her skin. She spent what seemed like hours, ridding the tangles and knots from her brown hair, which showed the slightest touch of fire when lit by the sun. She slipped on a dress she acquired in Frankia, a blood red dress which opened as a V around her neck and had elaborate gold stitching around it. The long sleeves bellowed out like trumpets around her wrists and a gold corset belted around her waist. This was the dress she was saving for her return to Kattegat, when she would be reunited and find a potential husband.  
She felt flutters again as she was braiding her hair. She stopped and readied herself as she thought again on a potential husband. As much as she didn’t want to be married and under the control of a man, she wanted children and the intimacy of such a relationship. Her mother had been married twice, once to her father and then to his brother after his death. She loved being married and caring for someone else. Lhyrie also thought her mother was quite simple and un-opinionated, raised to be obedient and faithful, something Lhyrie did not think of herself, as she was often scorned for speaking her mind.  
Lhyrie couldn’t wait to see her other friends tonight. She ran into Sigvi in the market, holding a crying infant in her arms. And she had already seen Hvitserk and Ubbe, although not as joyous as she had hoped her welcoming would be from Ubbe. In her childhood she had spent the same amount of time with Sigvi as she had with Ubbe, if not more. She wondered if she had hidden her disappointment well in the Great Hall or let it shown like she wanted it to.   
Readying herself, she began braiding her hair again, pulling it into a continued braid around her head like a halo. She could feel a few stray strands peak out around her face and frame it. She took a deep breath, slipped on her simple wool socks and stepped out behind the curtain which separated their makeshift quarters from the rest of her uncle’s home.   
“Oh Freyja!” Exclaimed Heidrun, hugging Lhyrie. “You have come from Fólkvangr to feast with us.”   
Lhyrie giggled and brushed off her mother, silently praying to Freyja not to judge on hubris.   
“There will be many Earls there tonight,” her mother said, sweeping a hair behind Lhyrie’s ear.   
“Mother, can I not wish to enjoy one night back in Kattegat without thinking about a husband to settle down to?”   
“But I want grandchildren!” She pleaded, rubbing Lhyrie’s belly playfully.   
“And I want your bride price,” Afin chirped in from the corner of the room. He was already slurring from too many glasses of ale.   
Heidrun scoffed and took Lhyrie in her arm. “To feast we go,” she said with a smile, ignoring her husband.  
The Great Hall was flooded with people. Many chatted, drank and ate outside the hall in the courtyard, huddled in the evening air around fires. Lhyrie and her mother snaked their way through the heavy crowd, filled with faces she remembered from when she was little. The King’s throne remained empty, though Aslaug reclined in her chair, goblet in hand.   
She grabbed a goblet from a servant weaving through the crowd as she looked to spot faces. Her mother had found Aslaug’s ladies-in-waiting and began gossiping with them. Lhyrie knew Sigvi would not come tonight with her little infant, but looked for Ragnar’s sons. She stationed herself by a pillar and fire and searched the crowd. 

A few men interrupted her search, introduced themselves and chatted politely, wishing to meet this new aspect. When the men would drag on their tales of heroics or raiding, Lhyrie would gaze across the hall until she saw Ragnar’s sons huddled in a corner of the great room. One man indeed was an earl, from somewhere north of Kattegat, but was awful fat and old. Thankfully, a young man with long blond hair tapped him on the shoulder and butted in. He had a curious brown spiral in his right eye.

“Sigurd!” She exclaimed, wrapping him in a hug. “You are all giants now!”

“Except for Ivar that is,” he replied cheekily. 

“Are you still hard on him?” She asked, think on how they had teased him so when they were younger. Lhyrie always felt sorry for young Ivar and would spend time each day with him, if Aslaug would let her. 

“When he needs it, which is always.” He smiled with a smile she knew well. All of Ragnar’s son, including Bjorn, had the same devilish smile. “Why don’t you come over and drink with us?” He asked, pointing to the corner of the room where the brothers were sitting. Aslaug made her way over and sat with her sons and two other blonde women there.

“Sigurd,” she began, grabbing another horn of ale and drinking, “why is Ubbe cross with me?” Lhyrie noticed Ubbe glance over in their direction several times as she spoke with different men, but quickly looked away and seemed aggravated. 

“I don’t think he is cross with you,” Sigurd defended his eldest brother. “He was always sour over you leaving, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Lhyrie mused, sipping from her drink. “And who is that woman speaking with him now?” She asked, as one of the blonde women talked in his ear. 

“Oh… that’s just a slave. Margrethe,” He said, looking longfully over his shoulder. 

“Margrethe… she is beautiful,” she said, wondering if, by the way Sigurd talked about her, she was more than just a slave. 

Sigurd stayed and talked with her, asking about her travels and people she had met. They shared many more glasses of ale, which Lhyrie could feel blurring her vision in the warm hall. She felt herself smiling more, playfully poking Sigurd as they talked, and leaning far too much on the pillar behind her to keep her standing. 

As the night drew on, men and women made camp on the outer walls of the hall and Sigurd left her to her pillar and glass of ale. When Lagertha arrived to wish her son off, that is when Ragnar made his appearance. He slipped in silently, behind the commotion she caused and scuttled around the edges of the hall and back into the sleeping quarters. He paused briefly to look at his sons before disappearing behind a curtain. 

The more the night went on, and after chatting with Lagertha, her shieldmaidens, and Bjorn, Lhyrie’s mind returned, unwilling, to Ubbe. Why was he avoiding her? He was the only Ragnarsson not to welcome her openly. Ivar even passed her in the Hall and said a few welcoming words. She glanced over in his direction, unmoved from his seat, with Margrethe now draped on his lap. She acknowledged that she was indeed jealous. Ubbe was her first kiss after all when they were children and she always felt they had a close relationship. That was, before she left. She was sour with her stepfather, as well, for leaving Kattegat. But as a child, she could not change her fate. Now, she could decide and challenge and ask questions which burned her.

A young man, Jagar, a farmer, approached her, handing her yet another horn of ale she gladly took. He was attractive, tan, and she could see the outline of hard-earned muscles through his tunic. She flirted loosely and let him stroke her arm and play with a curl fallen from her braid. He was attractive, but often caught herself looking over at Ubbe and the woman on his neck. 

“Will I see you at the sacrifice tomorrow?” Jagar asked her, nearing the end of the night.

“Of course. We will meet tomorrow.” 

Jagar planted a kiss on her cheek and she tried to suppress a childish giggle with the warmth that filled her body. When he parted, Lhyrie noticed Ubbe, wide-eyed, looking over at her. Now only Hvitserk was seated next to him in front of the fire. Lhyrie took a final gulp of her ale and pushed herself off the pillar she camped at for the evening. She tried to steady herself as she walked across the hall without tripping on rug. Suddenly, she felt the room start to spin around her and took a deep breath, defiantly storming against the voice in the back of her head to stop. 

“Ubbe,” she snapped curtly. 

“Lhyrie.” He replied, adjusting in his seat and cleared his throat.

“You have hardly looked at me since I returned. Have I done something to offend you?” 

“Now, why would you think that?” He cocked his head sharply.

She felt the heat rise into her, up into her ears, where anger peaked. She wasn’t quite certain why she felt the sudden rush of anger at him, but knew it didn’t feel unnatural. “You haven’t talked to me, nay looked at me!” She near yelled.

“Lhyrie, there’s no need for hot blood,” he said, calmly yet forcefully. 

“You cannot tell me what to do, Ragnarsson. I am not one of your slaves!” She quipped back, unfortunately right as Margrethe walked back into the Hall. 

Hvitserk shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tried to look awkwardly away. Others near them in the hall quieted themselves to listen, while those further remained in their drunken conversations. Ubbe shot up quickly and took one leaping step to stand but a few inches from her. He glared sharply at her and breathed heavy.

“This is not the time or place for this,” he hissed at her, towering over her so that Lhyrie needed to crane her head to look up at him. Abruptly, he turned on his heel away from her and brushed her with the handle of the ax on his hip. He grabbed Margrethe’s hand and whisked her away behind the curtain to their sleeping quarters. 

Lhyrie was breathing heavy with rage at this lack of explanation and looked toward Hvitserk for answers. He gave her a shallow look and shrug before moving toward her and planting a kiss on her forehead before he left her to go behind the curtains too. Standing awkwardly in the hall, Lhyrie turned herself and made way for the doors. Some people looked at her with side glances as she walked, again trying to steady herself and walk in a straight line. She took several deep breathes before forcing the great doors open and walking into the cool night. 

She immediately regretted not wearing a cloak to the feast, or had she and just forgotten it in the hall? She also regretted not paying closer attention to her journey from her uncle’s house to the hall. She had known it as a child but with the new buildings and shops in Kattegat, as well as her drunkenness, she was awfully lost. Suddenly she was aware of hordes of people also drunk and unfamiliar in the city with her. Scurrying a little faster, Lhyrie rushed by every alley and dark corner, wishing she had a knife with her at the very least. She stayed pressed along the walls of buildings, hoping to remain hidden from anyone wishing to do ill this night.

After a while, she stumbled upon a lighted area she recognized: The Great Hall and courtyard. She had made herself a circle and took a moment in the light to try and regain her sense of direction. She readied herself and set off again to find her uncle’s house. As she was walking she heard moaning coming from an alleyway. Not uncommon in Viking culture for people to have sex in public, but Lhyrie was withdrawn from Viking culture for several years, and blushed when she heard it.   
Trying not to invasive, but as curiosity got the best of her in her current state, she peered around the corner. Unbeknownst to Lhyrie, she saw Margrethe pressed against the side of the barn with Ubbe half-dressed. Lhyrie huffed and stomped her foot, trotting away, but not before she saw both Margrethe and Ubbe glance in her direction. As she stormed off, she heard Margrethe giggle. 

Not long after, and not as far away as she thought, she found her uncle’s house and slipped inside. She carefully peeled down to her underdress not to tear her Frankish one and quietly slipped under the fur to sleep next to her mother. Rage still boiled in her and she drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Before opening her eyes against the bright, headache inducing sunlight, pans clattered Lhyrie awake with the boom of Thor’s anvil. She heard her mother whisper a soft “Sorry” in her direction, before continuing to search for the right scrap of metal to cook breakfast on. Lhyrie groaned and rolled over onto her back, silently cursing her mother for waking her. She rubbed her brow and carefully peeked her eyes open, careful not to blind herself. 

“Wake up, little one. You have wasted half the day already.” 

Lhyrie groaned again, cursing herself for feeling this way – hungover and filled with regret. She couldn’t remember the exact words she spoke with Ubbe, but her tone was clearly not pleasant or polite. She was quite embarrassed for making a slight spectacle in the Great Hall and she prayed no word would spread to her mother or Queen Aslaug. She should have gotten him alone and talked about it but the Viking ale had gotten the best of her. Alone… like in an alley. 

Erg, the alley, she lamented. What was she thinking? She wasn’t one to be jealous or stalk people, or one to want to make other people jealous. But she was sure that she accomplished that when she was talking to the farmer, Jager, from the way Ubbe looked at her when he left. How could she fix what she had done? Any resolution would have to wait until after the sacrifice tonight and after the thousands of men, women and traders left for their far-away journeys. Hopefully by that time, she cooled her head. 

“Sváss, we must start the day,” her mother called again. 

“Yes, Mother,” Lhyrie yawned, stretching her arms in a wide arch above her head and shaking her head. She loosed the braid that hung in strands around her face and allowed her hair to flow in waves down past her shoulders. The clanking her mother made resulted in an egg frying on a pan above the fire, but the smell made Lhyrie nauseous. She still felt the room spinning slightly as she stood. She reached into the trunk at the side of the bed and pulled out a small jar. It was filled small shards of tree bark and Lhyrie picked out a slice and chewed on it carefully, hoping to rid the headache she could feel forming. 

Her stepfather was lounging in the corner of the room, seeming not to have moved from the night before. He was picking at an axe and had weapons scattered about him. 

“So you are raiding with Bjorn?” Lhyrie asked, walking out from behind the curtain. 

Her stepfather looked up at her, bewildered and unamused at her sleeping late. “Yes, I know some Frankish and have seen their armor and weapons. I would be very helpful to Bjorn and Hvitserk on their way to the Mediterranean, especially if they cannot reach Rollo.” 

“I heard Ragnar is also sailing to England,” Lhyrie replied, taking a seat at the small table with her mother, who handed her a plate with the egg on it. 

“I heard that as well,” Heidrun said. “The handmaidens were talking of it. He is taking Ivar with him! Queen Aslaug is not pleased.”

Afin dropped his axe, aggravated with the gossipy chatter. “Yes, your brother is joining him,” he said. “Did he not tell you?” 

“No,” Heidrun replied, shocked. “I did not see him this morning before he left to barter, and he was passed out drunk when I returned from the feast. You will not join him?” 

Lhyrie pushed the egg around the plate with no intention of eating it, as she felt it would not stay down for long. She tried to stay on the topic of her uncle raiding with Ragnar, but her thoughts shifted to the farmer she met last night. Jagar would be joining Ragnar in England, as well. That is where she learned of Ragnar’s plan. He was so proud, gleaming with joy as he told Lhyrie of the fate the Gods had planned for him – for his first raid would be with the famous King Ragnar Lothbrok. Initially Jagar was going with Bjorn and Hvitserk, but when he and his father learned Ragnar was returning to England, they set out to return there with him, where farmlands were once promised and settled, and perhaps, able to settle again. 

“No-,” her stepfather cut into her thoughts. “I would be better off with Bjorn.” He picked up his axe again and ducked his head, signaling the end of the conversation. 

“What is the plan today, Mother?” Lhyrie asked, shoving the uneaten egg over to her mother. 

“We should find a stall to sell medicines and a place to bandage and heal,” she replied, taking a bite of the fried egg. “I was thinking by the docks, if there is space, so that the traders sailing in could get easy treatment for diseases.” 

“Or by the gates,” Lhyrie added, rubbing her temples again, trying to nudge out her headache.

“Anywhere that is cheap,” her stepfather added. 

“With Drun sailing with Ragnar, we could stay here longer and not find a place of our own. He would be overjoyed that someone was keeping his house safe. We would save money that way.”

Afin grunted and resumed his interest in his axe handle. Lhyrie yawned as she rose to change for the day ahead.

The day seemed warm already, but Lhyrie was hesitant on wearing a simple smocked dress near the cool breeze of the fjord. Frankia, where they spent the previous 2 years, and even Denmark was warmer than Kattegat, being more south. She would have to get used to the colder North winds Njord blew in. Lhyrie picked out a simple beige tunic that hit her mid-thigh and brown leather slacks. It felt like home. She would wear it when she trained or hunted for herbs and found it infinitely more comfortable than any dress she owned. She threw a belt around her waist which held a small knife and a brown vest over her shoulders, concealing the knife on her hip. Sliding into a pair of knee-high boots, Lhyrie felt truly herself. She quickly pulled her hair into a single braid down the back of her head and set off with her mother.

The sun told Lhyrie it was already mid-day when she and her mother ventured out into the busy streets of Kattegat. The once simple village had turned into one of the more prominent and luxurious trading centers in the region, sitting at a pass of seas and rivers. Sailors from many foreign lands, speaking foreign languages squabbled with natives, trying to speak the common language of trade. Livestock roamed the streets under the careful watch of their herders, fresh meats hung from stall pillars, metal clanged and fire spurred at the various blacksmiths. 

Lhyrie looked around and gapped at the new sights of her hometown. She felt as though she was transported back to the port in Frankia where they stayed. While they were in Bruge, talk of Viking raids struck ill in the town and caused hysteria among the residents, so much so that they started building a fort around the town. Lhyrie began to wonder why larger outposts and provisions were not in place at Kattegat yet, especially with the King leaving so soon. She saw guards stationed at the docks, but most had ale in their hands and were chatting with men and wooing women as they were trying to load boats for the raids. 

“Helga has been tending to wounds and such while we have been away,” Heidrun said, as she linked arms with her daughter and squeezed through a congested street. Lhyrie tried to avoid tripping over a basket of fruit instead of running into a larger man and his goat, but some toppled over. She called back and apologized to the stall owner before her mother whisked her off, farther down the beach. 

Though the beach was so congested with trunks, shields and tarps it hardly seemed like a beach at all. Lhyrie watched as the boats bobbled up and down in fierce waves, and was glad to have grabbed the vest as she pulled it closer around her. 

“There you are!” a voice cried out from ahead of them. Lhyrie couldn’t place where it had come from until a woman ran out of house several yards ahead with her arms spread joyfully, waiting for a hug. She was short and plump, wearing a tattered dress smeared with blood, her wiry grey hair pulled into a messy bun atop her head. Heidrun half-ran to greet her and wrapped her into a large hug. 

“Helga!” She said, then motioned Lhyrie to move faster to greet her sister-in-law. “Age has seen you well. How goes you?”

“Ah, enough to keep me busy and worried when the men are away,” Helga replied, wiping sweat off her brow as Lhyrie tried to bundle closer. “Lhyrie, you look awfully cold. Let me warm you,” she said and enveloped Lhyrie in a warm hug. 

“The Frankish winds have grown me soft,” she replied with a slight laugh. 

“Well come in,” Helga said, moving them into her home. “This is where I have been practicing. It is well when the men come home off the boats.” She showed them the tables and jars placed out underneath an awning where she worked. Rags dripping in blood hung over wooden beams to dry and herbs were laid out on racks above a fire to dry. It was a quaint area, a good size for one or two people to work and tend and substantially better than the often cramped quarters they had in their travels. 

“You can work here, with me,” Helga said, sitting on a table. “Both of you,” she winked at Lhyrie.

“That is a wonderful offer, Helga,” Heidrun answered. “But we could not possibly. This is your space.”

It would be wonderful to have a space by the beach. It would be away from the Great Hall, Lhyrie thought. Away from the Ragnarssons, for a little bit atleast. It would also allow Lhyrie to bear the winter winds again as well. 

“I insist. My age had kept me from working as I would like, and I do not wish to buy slaves to help me, so if you two would help, it would benefit everyone,” Helga explained. 

“Lhyrie, what do you think?” Her mother asked. 

“I agree. I believe it would be beneficial,” Lhyrie said. “Someone could always be here tending, while others went and gathered supplies.” She ran her fingers along the edges of the table and a small knife that was lying there. Lhyrie spotted a jar of leeches sitting on a stool. 

“She has her father’s mind,” Helga commented, causing Lhyrie to smile. Helga grazed her cheek with a sincere smirk.

“I agree, and I think it is a good plan,” Heidrun said. “But we will pay your dues.”

“Fine, fine,” Helga said, waving off an argument and accepted her sister-in-law’s proposal. “Did you hear about Drun raiding with Ragnar?”

“Yes, and my husband raiding with Bjorn. As if we did not just travel all that way!” The two women laughed as Lhyrie explored the small space more and became acquainted with her future workplace. Grasses and roots were labeled in chalk in bins and jars, some which Lhyrie knew and was accustom to from her travels and others not. She became excited to learn their properties and uses. She leaned on the railings and looked out on the beach while the two women chatted. 

A few men carried a chest to the dock and rested upon it for a moment. One looked toward Lhyrie and smiled. He clasped hands with his partner and made his way over to her, his long brown hair fighting the wind. Jagar smiled widely as he came closer, but became more reserved when he noticed she wasn’t alone. He approached the awning slowly, wringing his hands. 

“Hello, Lhyrie,” he said, brimming ear to ear. “It is good to see you.” 

“Jagar,” Lhyrie responded with a smile. “You have a tear in your shirt,” she said, pointing out a rip in the arm of his tunic. There was a slight cut of blood peeking out underneath it. 

“Ach, yes. The chest has a sharp corner on it and jabbed me,” he said, rubbing the cut. 

“You have come to the right place,” she said, motioning to the jars and fabrics used for healing. “Would you like a salve?” 

“The healer,” he said with a grin, as Helga and her mother walked out of the house, hearing voices. “Hello, I am Jagar, son of Efferend.” he said politely. 

“Hello,” they called in unison. Heidrun beamed with a wide smile at her daughter. “Have you met before?” She asked. Lhyrie blushed in embarrassment. Her mother would tie Jagar into a marriage before he leaves.

Yes, at the feast last night,” he responded. “I will set sail with Ragnar to England.”

“Ah…” the two women exclaimed. 

“Mother,” Lhyrie began, “If I am no longer needed here, may I go with Jagar to celebrate the sacrifice?” It was later than Lhyrie thought, as the skies seemed to darken already.

“We will see you there,” her mother said, still smiling. 

The stir of a sacrifice filled the air with electricity as only it could, as to feel closer to the Gods. As if the streets were not crowded enough, more flocked to the city center in order to bear witness and get a blessing from the Gods. Thousands of fires illuminated the sky and provided the warmth Lhyrie desperately needed, despite the encroaching hold Jagar had on her shoulders throughout the night. 

He pushed her forward so that she lingered on the edge of the pathway where the ram would be lead, up to the courtyard where a skull and table were laid out for his final moments. Jagar stood behind her, with his arms wrapped around her waist. King Harald Finehair and his brother began chanting in perfect harmony suddenly under the glow of the skull, and the crowd grew quiet. Many craned their heads forward to get a clear look of the festivities. 

Up walked several men, forcing the ram by his horns to the middle of the courtyard. Lhyrie felt a discomfort as she always had with the sacrifice of animals. If the Gods wanted them to be sacrificed, they would choose them and have them walk up without fear and without the persuasion of people. When humans are sacrificed, it is without such fear that animals display. But, even then, it takes a gentle push to be sacrificed to dine in the halls of Valhalla. Many years ago, she bore witness at the Temple of Uppsala, where nine sacrifices of each animal, including humans, took place. She was no longer squeamish with the thought of blood spilled.

Behind them, Queen Aslaug was almost unrecognizable. She wore a mask of blood and tar, clothed in all white, in a trance – she immolated a Goddess. As the party approached the table and grand fire, the crowd silenced so much that a flap of a wing would resonate completely, as if the entire world was holding their breath. The men tied the ram from the pillar that stood with the fire, as Queen Aslaug slowly lifted a silver dagger in front of her. Almost as time stood still, she deliberately wielded the sword to the ram’s throat and blood poured steaming into the table and bowl. 

Once the blood had been drained and collected, the priest dipped his brush into the bowl and began throwing the God’s blessing onto the crowd. He turned but a few feet from Lhyrie and flicked blood from his brush. She felt the hot, sticky burn of fresh blood on her forehead, as Jagar gasped in exaltation. Queen Aslaug turned and moved toward the beach and boats, that is when Lhyrie noticed her sons behind her, almost directly across from them. Ubbe was staring hard at the ram hanging in the middle of the courtyard, almost as if to burn a hole through it, almost straight through her. Ubbe, Sigurd and Hvitserk turned to follow their mother, as Ivar stayed and moved toward the table in the middle of the area. 

Jagar gently took Lhyrie’s hand, guiding her to follow the party down to the boats. He smiled like a gleeful child. Down at the boats, the Ragnarssons, including Bjorn and his wife, Torvi, were standing, waiting for their blessing. People on boats were already flinging blood onto the others and their shields, afraid to miss a single item being taken on their journey. Jagar gleamed, trying to take in the entire spectacle, as if it something foreign. Growing cold, and not wanting to stay and look at Ubbe standing on the docks any further, Lhyrie pulled Jagar away, back up the Great Hall, where some men started a roast of the ram and a hog. 

Drums began beating and chanting resumed as the ale was broken out for the second night. Another celebration was in order. Lhyrie noticed Ivar was still in the center of the courtyard, blood stained his mouth and chin as though he had drunk the sacrificed blood. Someone handed him a horn of ale to wash it away. Jagar passed a horn of ale to her, but she was resistant to drink after the results of the previous night’s excursions. Lhyrie promised herself only one glass and down it quickly. 

Lhyrie could feel a warmth and tingling grow inside her, starting at her toes and moving upward. Her mind began to race, jumping to thought and feeling quickly and without warning. She needed to move to release these feelings. She took it as a gift from the God’s, and she grabbed Jagar’s hand pulling him in the middle of the courtyard to playfully dance to the beat of the drums, laughing almost manically. Ivar grinned up at her just as frenzied and spellbound. 

Hours seemed to pass, though Lhyrie kept dancing a type of step-dance choreographed by the Gods. Lhyrie had an endless energy, like a bee trapped in a jar, that which she must release. Jagar grew tired and moved to talk with men by the roast, but kept a close eye on her. Hvitserk danced with her on his way back up from the docks to the Great Hall. He twirled her in circles and lifted her off the ground, laughing like a child as he usually did. Sweat gathered on their brow and soaked their tunics, but never out of breath they seemed. Lhyrie’s cheeks grew tired from smiling. 

Soon after Hvitserk left her, the mania Lhyrie felt subsided and her legs felt as though they might buckle. She quickly scuttled over to where Jagar was seated outside the Hall and joined him. The Gods had left her. By this time, the moon was shining full above them and the crowd had dwindled down, as those who were sailing tomorrow surrendered to sleep. Jagar graciously led Lhyrie to her uncle’s house, before kissing her hand and parting for the night. Ragnar wouldn’t set sail for another week, but the celebrations were over and Jagar needed to return to his family’s farm to set the final preparations.

The next morning, Lhyrie was shaken from her sleep with a dull ache in her legs and calves. She muddled down to the docks with sleep in her eyes to see her step-father and friends off to the Mediterranean. Crowds gathered once more on the beach and Lhyrie fought to find Hvitserk and Bjorn to say goodbye. On the main dock, next to the flagship, she spotted Ragnar and his sons. 

“Hvitserk, I wish your dancing feet turn to sea-legs quickly,” she called, slightly mocking. He turned and rushed to give her a hug down the long dock. Bjorn chuckled and made his way down the dock as well. Although not as good friends as Lhyrie was to Aslaug’s children, she knew Bjorn well enough and appreciated his friendship. 

As she was hugging Bjorn, she noticed Ubbe turn and stare at her, moving his attention away from the boats. He gave her the same glare he had the previous night at the sacrifice, making Lhyrie believe he really wasn’t staring at the ram last night but at her. She let go of Bjorn and shook Ubbe’s look from her, before setting back off the dock and up the beach to find a spot to wave off the rest of the raiding party.

The following week passed quickly as Lhyrie was intrigued with preparing her new work station with herbs and dressings. She took advantage of the location to watch the next row of raiding boats come into Kattegat, barely a quarter of the number that went raiding with Bjorn and Hvitserk. She woke early the morning the men were heading off to get a good position on the beach. However, she didn’t need to, as only a handful of people came to the docks to wish well the smaller raiding party. She watched as Aslaug tearfully wish Ivar goodbye as he joined his father in the flagship. Ivar had made a contraption, like stilts, to walk. Lhyrie could hardly believe her eyes. They worked well, until it caught in a hole in the dock. Sigurd laughed as Ivar fell hard from his place. 

Lhyrie waited to be one of the last people to say goodbye, enveloping Jagar into a deep hug. She was hesitant as he groped her back and begged to reach for more, but she swatted him away to avoid indecency. Vengeance got the best of her, and she pulled Jagar into a long kiss as Aslaug and her sons moved up the dock. His lips were soft and he tasted like fresh honey. Ubbe cleared his throat in contempt as he passed.   
“I wish Thor will see you safe,” she said, swallowing hard, suddenly filled with sorrow.   
Jagar gulped as well and took a deep breath before swinging over the side of the boat onto his adventure.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor's anvil beat the skies with a thunderous boom as sparks flew from black clouds, as though the day turned to the black of night. Winds blew, hurdling baskets and hay up into the air, whistling into the cracks of houses huddled closely together, bearing the storm. Waves plummeted the beach and threatened to wash away the docks and houses just a few steps from disaster, as sand swirled in floating batches. Down the fjord, at the edge of sight, a dark mass began brewing. It rose high to match the cliffs bordering it and then larger and deeper, until it encompassed the entire fjord up to the docks and up to the sky.

The mass stayed there, fighting against the howling winds or fueling them, she didn't know. The waves grew higher still, rising up in front the dark mass but without colliding with the shore. The giant tsunami hovered before Kattegat and the winds started blowing in circles, ripping sidings from homes and chickens from their coop. Deafened screams filled the air. Lightning plummeted the beach in random strikes, growing heavy and fiercer with each blow. No one dared venture outside, with the fear of Thor striking them with his hammer or causing the tsunami to wash ashore.

A lone raven emerged, seeming to squeeze into the space between the looming mass and the sky. It cried out and dove in front of the tsunami, spreading its magnificent wings and flying between Thor's airstrikes. The raven landed on the main dock and beat its wings defiantly at the wave, puffed out its chest and called. Its cry echoed against the tsunami and it sent ripples along its pulsating body, reverberating into Kattegat and against its stone boundaries. It shook every house from its core and caused fires to extinguish. It sent shivers down Lhyrie's spine.

The wave began to fold over Kattegat, covering the city in a roof of thrashing water without drowning it. It stood there, lightning pushing through the wave itself, hovering above the city. Cries grew louder as children's fears proved true. The raven beat its strong wings and called again, and the wave seemed to turn and look at the raven on the docks. It retreated, recoiling to stand as a wall of water before the city, instead of over it and slowly lowered itself until it became smaller and smaller. As the tsunami washed into the sea, the black mass slowly backed into the fjord, flying backwards to meet the ocean.

The winds and the lightning remained, thrashing about on the beach as the raven stayed. It turned to face Kattegat and called its shrill cry again. Another raven flew from the edge of the fjord where the mass had finally disappeared and joined the other on the dock. They seemed to wink as the winds softened and stopped swirling, and the lightning halted its attack. The ravens flew from their spot up to the Great Hall. They perched upon the black and red banner of Ragnar Lothbrok and cawed. They picked at their wings as to fluff them while suddenly the banner unfurled, crashing to the ground before the massive doors. The winds hissed, "Death."

Lhyrie's eyes sprang open.

A storm had come to Kattegat as she was sleeping, she was sure of it. The smell of lightning and heavy rains lingered about her and she took a deep breath to hold on to it. She peeked out the crack in the wall to search outside. The beach was windblown but remained intact, the houses were not stripped of their siding, and only a few chickens roamed the street outside their home. Thunder rolled in the grey skies above Kattegat and Lhyrie shivered. She reached for a fur to wrap around her shoulders before lighting the hearth that vanquished in the night. Summer was here, but didn't feel like it.

It had been less than a week that Ragnar, and Jagar with him, set sail for England but it felt like ages for Lhyrie. She wasn't quite sure what she missed from the group that left. It was illogical for her to miss Jagar, especially only knowing him for a week before he left; she thought she missed the idea of him, a suitor figure, someone to dote on her and talk to. Perhaps her mother was right on trying to find her a husband quickly. She began to see the allure of one finally.

Lhyrie grabbed an apple from a bin and chewed on it, thinking about Jagar and when he would return. Her mother and her traded their skills for food and were well off in what their patients would supply. The other night Lhyrie helped a first time mother deliver her baby boy and received a pig for payment. She hoped the baby survived, as it looked like slightly blue when she went to check in and desperately wanted to keep the pig in order to be salted for winter.

But she did need to make a trip to the market today for more yarn and other trinkets and quickly gathered her things to start her day. She wrapped a cloth bag around her neck and shoulders before dumping a few apples out on the table to use the bucket to carry the items she needed at the market. Closing the door softly behind her so that the wind wouldn't slam it shut to waken her mother, Lhyrie turned up the street toward the edge of town.

After the raids left town, the streets settled to their usual routine. Farmers waked early to bring in cattle and chickens to sell, traders opened their stalls along the main street and the stray drunkard roamed idly muttering under his breath. She helped a cart free itself from the soft mud as she passed by the Great Hall. Ragnar's banner was missing from its post atop the peak, just like the dream she had earlier. It was not, however, laying on the ground. It must have blown away in the storm, she thought. She was glad she wore her hardened boots this morning, as she felt her heel slip as she trotted through the suctioning mud after the cart.

The market was already buzzing despite the sun just barely rising and the wetness. One heckler tried to have Lhyrie buy an extravagant gold necklace with large red stones hanging from it. She even went so far as to put it on her and look in the reflection of a waxed plate. It was beautiful, but fit for the Queen, she thought. Although it would match her red dress she had for more decadent purposes. She politely declined the trader before making a foolish purchase and continued to do her shopping.

She browsed the stalls, perusing certain plants and animal fats for their medicinal purposes. She wondered as she smelled a handful of white Hellebores how long it would take to learn where some of these plants now grew near Kattegat. For those less than a day's ride, it would be better to hunt them herself, instead of buying them. She paid a small coin for the handful of Hellebores, which she used once a month to keep her unbearably painful blood away.

Several bushels of moss, seaweed, lavender, and Rowan berries later, Lyhrie thanked those she bought from and wiped the dirt from her hands onto her sopping dress. The rain was barely spitting as Lhyrie she was shopping, but enough to soak her dress and hair. Thankfully she had grabbed the fur around her shoulders. She pulled it tight around her as she nearly slipped and fell in the muck; she balanced herself and laughed with her arms pulled out in front of her, half buckled over.

As she was regaining her posture and shoes from the mud, she heard someone call for her just ahead. She looked up and saw a head sticking out of the Great Hall's doors. "Lhyrie, come here!" called a woman with fire-red hair.

"Good morning, Sigvi," she replied, treading carefully in the troughs and puddles of mud.

"The Queen wishes to see you," she said, opening the doors of the Hall for her.

Lhyrie was hesitant with the layer of mud caked onto her shoes and dress to enter the hall. "I would make a mess," she answered.

Sigvi gave her a look, noticing the splatter of mud on her dress and peered over her shoulder, presumably at the Queen Lhyrie couldn't see. The door opened wider and Queen Aslaug stood before her.

"Lhyrie," she acknowledged. "Would you do me the honor of coming to supper with us tonight?" She asked. "It is dreadful quiet with Ivar and Hvitserk gone." The Queen looked saddened with the mention of her sons, but quickly wiped the look from her face and gave a weak smile.

"Of course, my lady," Lhyrie replied. She tried to hide the look of disappointment of dining with her sons with a smile. "Should I extend the invitation to my mother, as well?" She asked, praying not to sup alone.

"I would like to talk to you, alone," Aslaug said. Lhyrie's stomach churned. "She has told me her stories, now I want to hear yours."

"It would be my honor," she said, giving a slight head nod to the Queen has she returned inside. She tried to resist a groan as she rolled her eyes, but a small one squeaked out. Sigvi laughed.

"You look as though it is torture," she whispered softly, looking back to make sure the Queen was out of earshot.

"Ubbe and I haven't exactly been in great terms since I've come back," Lhyrie whispered back.

"Ah… because of Jagar," she said with a chuckle.

"I don't think that's the whole of it," she said, biting the inside of her lip.

Lhyrie parted ways with Sigvi and made her journey back to her uncle's house, again careful not to add another layer of mud onto her shoes or dress. She knocked her boots on the outside of their house, attempting to scrape some bit dirt off them. Her mother was awake inside, trying to find another bin for the apples she had scattered earlier. Lhyrie told her the news of supper and her mother regaled in the opportunity to be alone.

The rain had finally stopped and the sun had made its appearance before the day fell dark. Lhyrie was dreading the supper all day as she worked in her aunt's shop on the beach. She arranged her mosses and weeds to her likening while she pondered the dream she had earlier. Gazing out into the fjord she thought she saw a black shape near the horizon. She blinked hard and shook her head. When she opened them and looked back out, the shape was gone. The harsh waves were playing tricks on her eyes or the dread of the night to come fooled her. Figuring she prolonged the inventible long enough, she went to change her dirty dress for a same red dress she wore the night of the feast.

Guards opened the grand doors to the Hall and the chatter that was happening inside silenced. The large table at the center of the room was set with 4 large chairs and far too many plates and goblets. Flowers were scattered about, trying to provide some feminine warmth against the harsh metal settings. Sigurd was already seated at the chair closest to the doors, drinking ale and picking at a root already on his plate. Queen Aslaug entered through the curtains when she heard the doors opened.

"Lhyrie, thank you for coming," she said as she gave her an awkward hug. "Pick a seat."

Lhyrie moved toward the seat next to Sigurd, who acknowledged her with a grunt and head nod with his mouth full. Aslaug chose the seat across from her son, as Ubbe slowly moved through the curtains toward the table. He gave a heavy sigh and pulled the chair out across from her.

"So, Lhyrie… what did you learn on your travels?" Queen Aslaug asked her as servants brought out hot broth and ale to them.

Lhyrie watched as the servants poured the steaming soup into the bowls while trying to collect her thoughts. "Um… more than I could place right now," she answered with a laugh. How could you sum up 5 years of knowledge so tightly? "It seems like I have forgotten my Frankish already." She took a spoonful of broth and blew the steam away. "I mainly stayed with the men protecting the town we lived in. Healing their wounds and such…" she trailed off.

Ubbe slurped his broth nosily.

"And they never made a pass at you?" Aslaug asked, surprised.

"Well they heard the tales of Viking shield-maidens, no doubt."

"I would be frightened too," Aslaug commented and sipped her broth.

The servants brought out several chickens that the men devoured as soon as they were set on the table. Lhyrie ate her food slowly and drank her ale a little too fast, making polite conversation with Aslaug to be appropriate. Ubbe hardly spoke and was concentrated on his meal.

"Why did you and Ubbe stay behind?" Lhyrie asked Sigurd about the raids as she drank a large sip of ale.

"Someone needed to stay here and protect our mother," Ubbe said frankly, the first words he had said all evening.

"And I am glad for that," Aslaug looked toward her eldest. "I will miss you when you go to Hedeby tomorrow," she said.

"Isn't Hedeby Earl Ingstad's earldom? South of here?" She asked, trying to regain her geography.

"Yes, we have been asked to come," Sigurd said.

"I wish you easy travels," Lhyrie raised a glass their way.

"Just as you did the farmer on the docks?" Ubbe peered over his glass. Lhyrie gave him a sharp look as he added, "I meant no disrespect, but was curious."

"Ubbe!" Aslaug cut in.

"I am making sure our dear Lhyrie's honor is intact, Mother," he snipped.

Lhyrie gulped and set her glass down slowly. She took a calming breath and said, "I didn't ask you to be my father while he is away, Ubbe."

"Well, your father died when Jarl Borg attacked. So -"

"You know what I meant." Lhyrie felt her blood boil again.

"Yes, I did. But I also don't want people to think you are a whore."

"Ubbe!" Aslaug exclaimed again.

"You don't talk to me but suddenly you're concerned with my honor? You could have avoided this if you just said 'Hello' to me from the beginning!"

"You were busy snogging other men!" Ubbe shot up abruptly.

"That is enough!" Aslaug said, standing to match her son. Lhyrie whispered apologies under her breath as Sigurd snickered. "You are not children."

"Excuse me, Mother. I have lost my appetite," Ubbe said, turning from the table.

Aslaug watched Ubbe walk away and behind the curtains before sitting back down at the table. She gave an exalted sigh and resumed her meal. The rest of the dinner went by in uncomfortable silence.

When the meal was finished and she was excused, Lhyrie ran home and quickly changed into a pair of slacks and a tunic. Blood still hot, she grabbed her sword and shield and made way to the empty barn that attached to her uncle's house. She filled a bag full of hay and tied it to a post. She pretended it to be Ubbe. As she practiced her steps and stabs, she grew angrier and angrier at the conversation over dinner. He had no right, she thought. She was a free woman and could do as she pleased. And kissed who she pleased. If Ubbe had wanted her, he could have easily made himself known, instead of perusing with his slave.

She slashed a tear into the makeshift Ubbe, spilling the hay from his insides. Before moving to repair the improvised target, she heard a rustling outside the barn and someone pulling at the door. She quickly turned on her heel, shield up into a fighting stance and raised her arm straight to swing her sword. It was met against the face of an axe.

"I'm sorry, I heard a ruckus," Ubbe said, lowering his weapon. Lhyrie kept her sword and shield up, wide-eyed. "You need a new opponent," he said, looking over her shoulder to his hay counterpart.

She didn't say anything or move, she just stared hard into him.

"You're angry over dinner." Her blank stare gave him his answer. He laughed. "Will you let me practice with you to make up for it?"

Lhyrie relaxed enough to lower her sword. "Let me put my sheath on, I wouldn't want to kill you… accidentally." She said, walking to retrieve the leather covering for her sword.

"That is not necessary," he said, flipping his axe.

"You do not have a shield."

"I don't need one."

"Arrogance will strike you down, Ragnarsson," she said, sheathing her sword, allowing her blue eyes and face to soften.

"Is that a threat?" Ubbe teased, setting his stance. He raised his axe in front of him, bracing.

Lhyrie lunged first, clashing with Ubbe's axe. He turned and jabbed for her side, but she blocked his attempt with her shield, knocking him off his balance. He regained his footing and swung again to her other side, stopped by her sword. Lhyrie turned in a circle and pushed her shield into him again - this time he didn't lose his footing. She stabbed into his side but was met by his axe, the look on his face told Lhyrie he wasn't expecting her to actually try to stab him, even with the sheath covering the blade. Ubbe stepped toward her and rose his axe toward her face, where she locked her sword with it between them. They clashed several more times before Lhyrie twirled again and tried to stab forward, causing Ubbe to step back.

She could feel her energy rising, brewing to release the anger she felt with him. She jabbed again and was blocked. It felt good – to show him how angry she was with him. Stabbing again, they moved in a well-choreographed dance, crunching hay underneath their feet. Ubbe began to breathe heavy, as though he was frustrated. Lhyrie blocked every jab he took and threw off his axe swings. After she had shoved him again with her shield and made him loose his balance, he charged at her, wielding his axe high. Lhyrie braced her shield up to protect herself and felt the axe embed itself in the wood. Ubbe tugged at the handle to free it, but it was lodged hard.

Lhyrie felt her sword lower to her side, almost relaxed. She gave swift tug backward causing Ubbe to move forward and knock into her, pressed into her shield. He pulled his furrowed brow from trying to remove the axe onto her. Suddenly, he pulled his hands up to her face and kissed her hard. Her mind fizzled with disbelief and awe. Lhyrie tried to pull away, but his hands cupped her face and held her still. She regained her thought and shifted her feet. Just as quickly as Ubbe drew her into a kiss, Lhyrie kneed him between his legs. He bit down on her lip before Lhyrie shifted back and pushed her shield into his face. She circled and pulled her sword up again, while tossing her shield and imbedded Ubbe's axe, into the hay.

"Leave," she threatened, out of breath. She noticed the tip of her sword was bloody, as the leather sheath split to reveal the pointed tip of her dagger. Ubbe's tunic was torn at his abdomen, blood pooling on it. He looked at her shocked, without concern of his wound.

"Lhyrie, I – "

"Cover that with ascaria," she interrupted, nodding toward his stomach. She moved to where her shield had landed and pulled his axe from it. Ubbe took a step forward and reached for her arm. Lhyrie shook him off and placed her sword on her hip, smearing her trousers with his blood. She grabbed her shield, left his axe on the ground and pulled the barn doors open. She made the few steps into her house and exhaled the breath she had been holding as she leaned against the door. It took a few moments, but she listened for Ubbe to leave the barn. He slammed the door and sounded like he was walking toward her, before he turned back and cursed under his breath.

Lhyrie avoided the subject of the dinner with her mother, despite the multiple prodding's she tried. Lhyrie could tell her mother heard her in the barn, but she neglected to mention anything on that matter. Lhyrie went to visit Sigvi to talk on the matter.

"What?!" She exclaimed in a hushed whisper as to not wake her baby. Lhyrie nodded and sipped her tea. "So what are you going to do?" She asked.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't know what Ubbe wants, if anything. But I am practically engaged to Jagar."

"Yes… You did always have the boys fighting over you," she teased.

Without warning, they heard screams coming from outside. People ran past the home, fleeing. Sigvi ran to grab her son and cuddle him to keep him from crying.

"What's going on?"

Lhyrie moved to peered out the door. Women and children were running both toward the beach and away from it. Some were carrying their shields, axes and swords, others were just running. Lhyrie noticed a shield-maiden she didn't know, carrying a blue shield with black lines on it. The shield-maiden lunged at a man who was running toward her and slit his belly. Lhyrie's mind flashed back to Ubbe as the man buckled on his knees. She instinctly reached for a sword on her belt that wasn't there.

"No, Lhyrie," Sigvi said, sensing her friend wanting to fight.

"But Kattegat is under attack," she retorted back.

"Without it's armies or it's princes. You said it yourself, Ubbe and Sigurd went to Hedeby."

Hedeby. It clicked then in her mind. Lagertha's colors were blue and black, the same as the shield-maiden's. Lagertha was usurping Kattegat. Lhyrie's went back to Ubbe. Did she kill him when he travelled to see her? The thought made her want to go out and fight more, but Sigvi held her back.

As soon as the fighting had started, it ended. When the streets had calmed, Lhyrie and Sigvi ventured out, looking past the men and women dead in the streets onto the courtyard. A crowd had gathered. Lhyrie heard Queen Aslaug speaking, but could not register her words. A sword clamored in the dirt and the crowd began to shift slightly. The unmistakable loose of an arrow followed by a softened thud caused many to gasp and cry out. Lhyrie craned her head to see the commotion.

The Queen laid on one end of the crowd, arrow in her back, face onto the ground while Lagertha dropped her bow to her side. Someone grabbed Lhyrie by the arm and pulled her from her toes. Her Aunt Helga, bloodied and hurt, whispered in her ear. Her heart dropped. The world started to spin and grew into a deafening silence.

Her mother had been killed.

"All hail Queen Lagertha!" someone chanted.

All hail Queen Lagertha.


	4. Chapter 4

She did the only thing she could think of – crouch down and hide in the crowd forming around her. Words flowed through her mind but she couldn't hear them as the weak chant fell upon her deafened ears. She picked up a handful of dirt and watched it as it carelessly fell between her fingers, so delicate and pure, like a child would do. Oh how simple it was to be a child, when she had one parent, not none.

They came off the boats.

How irony plays in cruel circles. A different invader, a different time, but the results remained the same: a parent killed on the beach. But no child to join them in Valhalla this time. She was alone on Midgard. She wanted to curse the Gods and scream, but the feeling of anger couldn't form in her mouth. She couldn't think of the words to say or things to do. She felt nothing at all; nothing except for the cool earth falling between her fingers.

Helga crouched down with her and placed her hand on her back, trying to console her niece. "My dear, did you hear me?"

Of course she heard her. Why did she think the world was crashing down around her and she needed to escape? Did she not feel the Earth collapsing in? Or spinning out of control? Did she not realize it took a moment to process she had become an orphan? She started to laugh uncontrollably. People around her interrupted their half-hearted chanting to stare at her. Their perplexed expressions made Lhyrie explode more. How unaware they were of the God's merciless joke.

The crowd began to shift. They parted around the crouched figures as Lagertha turned to move into her new throne in the Great Hall, carefully surrounded by her guard of shield-maidens. She picked up the great sword Aslaug had let fall into the earth as the new Queen of the Danes. A group of Lagertha's warriors then flocked to the slain body of Aslaug and thrusted the arrow further in her back. A few gasps emitted from the crowd as some turned away, unwilling to watch their former Queen be mistreated. The warriors pulled the bloodied arrow from her back and turned her over, revealing a half smile on the former Queen's face. Many of the crowd stayed and watched as a stretcher was brought in and she was placed upon it, seeming to be prepped for her funeral.

As the crowd scattered, Lhyrie began to stir from her crouched position. Tears had formed in her eyes, but she could not feel the sadness that was trapped within her yet. Helga pulled her up. Her legs were shaky from a lack of feeling the earth, her body still void of sensation except for the dirt staining her hands. She feared a wave of emotion would capsize on her, but when would it hit?

"Go back to the house and make some poppy tea," Helga said to Sigvi, as she tried to support Lhyrie and take a few steps. Sigvi grasped her baby closer to her chest, trying to suppress the tears she had in her eyes. She turned and tried to push through the slow moving, awe-struck crowd back to Lhyrie's now empty home. "Come on dear," she encouraged, rubbing Lhyrie's shoulders in encouragement.

She moved her feet hesitantly, uncertain of the ground beneath her. Feeling confident the God's wouldn't pull the earth from under her, Lhyrie began to walk slowly, in a trance, still needing guidance and support from her aunt. Walking slowly back to the house, they heard concerned whispers and sullen cries. They navigated the overflowing streets, stepping over and around the piles of the dead, like rapids in a stream. A woman sprawled out on the body of man covered in blood, dead on the ground. Her shrill cry echoed in Lhyrie's ears. A man clasped arms with another, both bruised and cut over their bodies. A young boy searched eagerly for this parents, looking through every pile, hopeless tears welled in his eyes – Lhyrie prayed he would find them alive. They approached the doorway and Helga moved to it.

"No, no, no," Lhyrie begged, pulling away from her aunt. "I want to see my mother, before Lagertha's people place her in a pyre. I want to prepare her for Valhalla."

"Let us drink poppies, then we can go for your mother," Helga answered, attempting to guide her into the doorway.

"I am calm, Helga. I do not need poppies; I need to see my mother."

Helga gave a despairing sigh and led her down the path to the beach. Countless bodies laid in the sand, most pierced with arrows. A fire had consumed a row of houses and the ashes marked a strike contrast with the white beach. Her mind raced as she saw people already gathering bodies and assembling pyres on the sand.

But then she spotted her: her hair sprawled out in tentacles around her, her eyes already closed. She was steps from the sanctuary of her aunt's home and shop, spread-eagle with the sand scattered around her like she was making snow angels, three arrows in her chest. Her shield was fallen next her and a man with her sword in him nearby. Lhyrie started running, desperate to feel her, to see if any life was still left. Rationally she knew it impossible, but that thought crammed far into the depths of her mind, clinging to Eir to heal her.

Her sight narrowed, grown dark around her, with the single focus on her mother, like a spotlight in her mind. She hurdled over the slain, hardly recognizing she was moving. She felt like she was floating. Her breath came hard and burned in her chest, huffing like a fire too warm. A few yards from her mother, her pace slowed not seeing the subtle movement of her chest and she tripped over her own feet. Lhyrie crawled the rest of the way, pulling herself with excessive force as the energy suddenly drained from her body.

Still warm with the summer sun, Lhyrie draped herself over her mother. She ached as she strained to listen for the rhythmic beating of her heart but could not hear one. Without warning, anguish flooded her. She felt as though her heart was being torn from its cavity and being squeezed of its very last morsel of life; as though she was dying with her mother. A wave of warm fury ran over her and escalated the anguish she felt. Water littered her eyes, her eyebrows drawn in frustration and fear. She cursed the Gods and dug her fingernails into her palms. She felt the sting and rush of blood in her fists which dripped and mixed with the others in the sand.

Helga came to her side. Lhyrie noticed the wrinkles on her face grew deeper, like caverns carved from death. She looked so much older now, perhaps it was the sadness that haunted her eyes and aged her. Lhyrie began to wonder how much older she, herself, looked now – how the depression of her eyes echoed that of which she felt, now three times over. Her mother looked the opposite, as she laid unmoving in the packed sand. She looked peaceful and youthful, as though the Valkyries had already taken her to Fólkvangr.

I must dress her, Lhyrie thought. The men assembling the pyres were now drenched in sweat, looking like they were in a rain storm. They would begin to cremate them soon. Her mother must be adorned with her jewelry and changed out of her war torn clothes. She must be acceptable to the Gods and have her kit full of medicines to take to them. She would join her first husband and son.

"Will you help me move her?" She asked her aunt.

Carefully Helga and Lhyrie carried her mother the few yards into shop she died trying to protect. Lhyrie had grown tired with weakness and feared she would become so weak she would drop her. She clung with every ounce of energy she had left not to. "I will go and gather her things," she told her aunt, once they had her settled on a table. She made her way slowly through the waves of people dragging their loved ones, not truly thinking, not truly feeling. Her feet seemed weighted; her whole body did, with fatigue and despair. She mustered just enough strength to force her door open and barely squeeze though. She nearly fell before making it to a chair.

The surge of emotion rattled her again. It brewed like the wave she had in her dream a few nights ago. Was that dream a vision of what had happened? It bore the darkness she felt, the uncertainty that lingered over Kattegat, the usurping of Ragnar's reign. Lhyrie had never had a vision before. In hindsight, she wished she thought more on it when it happened.

Turmoil raged in her, it spilled over the ramparts of her mind and destroyed any hope and lightness she might have had. She began rocking back and forth in the chair, trying to conceal or exhaust this sensation in her, wishing it would pass. She curled her knees into her chest, locking them close to her. Trying to block out the world around her, she buried her head in her knees.

The fire that Sigvi left burning cast shadows and jumped in golden bows on the walls, it was close to a smolder. It whispered the fables of burning timber around her. The hissing of the fire seemed to grow louder in her ears, laughing in small, sharp voices. She sat up more alert and felt terror run through her. The laughing seemed to encompass her, surrounding her, trapping her, growing ever more deafening in her ears. She sat frozen. Her hands moved to grasp her ears to block out the shrill noise. It washed over her, mocking her in deep rolls and bounced off the small confines of the room, racing back to her.

The noise grew so boisterous around her it became muted, as though she was suddenly drowning under water. The echo still bombarded her with its fury. The room glowed intensely like the fires of Hel, like the fires her mother will soon burn upon. It charred the walls and burned in ashes. Lhyrie forced her eyes shut, away from the depths of the fire encircling the home; away from the horrible voices of a hundred scornful laughs. She screamed at the top of her lungs as hot tears ran down her face.

"STOP IT!" She cried to the Gods. "STOP THIS!" She felt her throat strain with exploitation.

Then suddenly, it stopped. The room was deafening silent, no burn marks etched in the wood, no ashes or smoke filled the room. The fire in front of her had puttered out, but the heat radiated like Hel off of it. She peered awestruck at her surroundings. What madness had she succumbed to? Was she so tired with death she surrendered to a fitful sleep? Was it another awful dream or forewarning? Were the God's mocking her?

She wiped under her eyes, which were raw from tears shed and drew in hard labored breaths to calm herself. Her breath was shaky from fear. Her fingers trembled as she pushed off the chair and staggered over to her mother's trunk. She needed to remember her purpose for returning home: to gather her mother's things. Shaking her arms out, she tried to shake the uneasy feeling from her as she flipped through her mother's things. Beautiful dresses, made from laboring for hours with embroidery and cloth stuffed the chest. One of a brilliant blue, like a river freshly flowing after the thawing of ice, was one of her mother's favorites. Another, yellow as a dandelion in summer brought out her mother's blonde hair. Far on the bottom of the trunk sat a vivid purple dress, dyed with brewed lavender pedals over several days, it shined like the dusk before a storm.

Lhyrie looked at the small collection of jewelry her mother owned. Her wedding band was already placed on her finger, a simple circle of gold. She owned a modest gold bracelet, three strands woven together in a continuous circle and a long necklace finished with an opal stone at its center. Lhyrie grabbed those and the blue dress for her mother's journey to the afterlife before heading back to the beach.

It seemed like no time at past with her vision. The sun had not moved from its position in the high sky and the fires were not yet lit on the pyres. Many bodies still lined the streets but men with carts pulled by horses now piled them for their load, quickening Kattegat's clean up. Lhyrie rushed back to her aunt's home, still attempting to shake off the ill vision she had. The images still burned in her mind and charred it like the walls of her home.

"I'm sorry I took so long," she said to Helga, indeed thinking her vision occupied more time than not.

"My dear, you are back sooner than I had thought," Helga replied, placing a cauldron of water over her burning fire.

"I closed my eyes for a moment and thought I slept longer; but I must be mistaken."

"Your mother loved that dress," she said, reaching to feel the woolen fabric between her fingers. "She will shine in Fólkvangr." Helga looked toward Lhyrie with a smile. Vikings had a unique outlook on death. It was feared to an extent, but welcomed and rewarded for then you will be with the Gods. Lhyrie could not see the attraction of feasting with the Gods after they cursed her with misfortune.

In silence they bathed her mother. Meticulously they undressed her, bandaged her wounds and washed her. Lhyrie braided her hair in an intricate row of braids, weaving in and out of one another, a dazzling maze of blonde hair. The woolen dress seemed weighted to the earth as they tried to fit her in it. Lhyrie pulled, careful not to rip the beautiful piece of fabric, until it gave way under her mother, fitting her effortlessly. She smoothed the lines of the dress and picked the nicks that formed on it. Her mother would be flawless in Fólkvangr. They laid the necklace on her, placing the opal on her throat and the bracelet on her wrist. Lhyrie shined her wedding ring, wiping of the blood caked to it.

Finally, after the horses had dropped their pile of men, women and children at the pyres, the warriors came for her. Lhyrie stayed at their side as they moved her to a stretcher and carried her to a pyre. She laid next to another woman about her age. Lhyrie wondered if they were friends. She hopes they walk into Fólkvangr together. She placed her mother's shield on her chest, her sword balanced upon it. Trembling, fighting the tears that were pooling in her eyes, she kissed her mother's hand before folding her arms over her sword and shield.

"Goodbye," her voice whispered, quivering.

The sun still shone bright in the summer sky, but the melancholy Lhyrie was consumed with darkened her mind. The pain ached in her bones and made her shiver. Her head throbbed from making furrows on her forehead. She saw a parade of people travel down the center of town, a joyous chanting with smoke rising from their center. She felt no joy now. She could not celebrate this death.

Far off at the docks, a longboat was being prepared. Ferns, so bright and green filled the boat, clothing and jewelry shined off the sun, the parade stopped and litter made its way to the docks. The Queen - former Queen Aslaug - was dressed in her best, a simple crown upon her head. Lhyrie hadn't expected the Queen to be laid out so suddenly, without her sons here to bear witness. They surely must have been killed then, Lhyrie further mourned. Lagertha would have allowed them the honor to see their mother off, wouldn't she? Lhyrie shook off the thought of Ubbe and Sigurd, not wanting to add to the heartache she was already experiencing.

Lhyrie backed away from the mass funeral as a woman began singing an eerie note. It echoed into the void she felt, sending shivers down her spine. She felt goosebumps rise on her skin. Looking up she saw a raven black as night flying toward the spectacle. Its cry joined the singer in harmony, forming death's song. It circled over the longboat as it was pushed off the dock and archers gathered on the docks, their arrows dipped in hot oil, pleading to be lit and loosed. Their flight arched majestically, as though guided by the Gods to the longboat. Another flight of arrows fired onto the 4 pyres on the beach. Lhyrie's mind flashed to the soft sound Aslaug made as she fell when pierced by the arrow, then to the whizz of arrows her mother was struck with and her gasps of pain as she struggled with breath before death took her.

Flames rose high and mighty from the pyres and black smoke drifted into the sky. Fire let the dead reach Valhalla by climbing the ladder of smoke to the Gods but Lhyrie grew nauseous and faint from the stench of burning flesh, so much that she had to cover her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. She wasn't sure if the tears that formed in her eyes were due to sadness or the smoke, though she wiped them carefully from under her raw eyes, the salt already stinging her face.

As she turned to let the others drink and celebrate, she noticed Lagertha on the far side of the beach, staring into the fjord at the burning longboat her predecessor floated upon. She felt a different type of anger than she felt early today as she looked at the new Queen. She felt vengeful, filled with hatred toward her, not just for her mother, but for Aslaug, Ubbe, Sigurd and the hundreds of people slaughtered today in Kattegat. Suppressing a deep breath, she held it until the feeling quieted and the tension in her fists loosened. Hvitserk and Ivar would get their revenge, Lhyrie knew. She would wait for them to release her anger. For now, she tried to find a sleep that wouldn't come.


	5. Chapter 5

There was an unusual stir in Kattegat as they rode through. Men and women stared and quickly shielded their eyes like they were looking at the sun. No, not at the sun; that would be too bright and with annoyance, but at a comet so fierce it might explode in the skies, but intriguing that you couldn't help but look. They pushed their horses to their limit, riding as quickly as they could after they were released from their hold from Margrethe. They sensed something was wrong.

A horn sounded as they passed through the main gates, but no one came to stop them. Perhaps whatever Lagertha had planned had failed. But why lure them to Hedeby and not kill them? Did she fear retaliation from their father if she had killed them and then failed? But if she had succeeded and usurped Kattegat, like she most likely wanted to, wouldn't she have killed them so they didn't kill her? So many questions entered his mind and he nudged his horse ever faster, ignoring the perturbed glances he was being given.

Two women he didn't recognize stood guard. They carried teal and black shields, not the blood red of Ragnar Lothbrok. His colors weren't blowing in the wind as they normally hung from the rafters, their brilliant red and black ravens were gone. He leapt off his horse in full trot and rushed past the guards, bracing for whatever ill wish laid in front of him. Remarkably, they did not stop him or fight, but let him pass, opening the doors wide to pour sunlight into the filled Hall.

It showed him what he feared: Lagertha sitting where his father sat. Two women standing next to the throne passed in front of her, standing just out of his way. He recognized them: Astrid, the black-haired woman, and Torvi, Bjorn's wife. Was Bjorn part of this? A row of shield-maidens, shields braced, lined one wall of the Great Hall, archers stood next to the doors, and other men and women lined up opposite the shield-maidens, forming a path to Lagertha. He searched the crowd for two faces he despondently needed to see, but could not find them. All he saw were the people who carried weapons and clung to them like they were waiting for another fight, desperate it seemed for more battle. He breathed hard with desolation and malice.

"Where is our mother?" He boomed. His words seemed to echo off the walls of the Great Hall despite the people pressed against its edges. He moved his weight back and forth in his feet, ready to attack if necessary.

"She is dead, Ubbe," Lagertha answered calmly, unmoving in her expression, striving to assert some form of paramount over the two men standing before her. "I killed her."

He had expected Lagertha to take the throne, but killing Aslaug never crossed his mind. "Why?" He asked, desperate for answers. He could feel his anger begin to boil in his toes. He scanned the room again, taking account of the weapons and the weakness in her guard. They could break into three lines, he figured, if he would attack. Three levels to get to Lagertha. Six people to kill – seven including her. Sigurd could take the archers.

"She took Kattegat away from me – I wanted it back."

Ready to charge, he shifted his feet again as she spoke. He could feel the weight of his axe on his hip as his hand instinctually lingered over it. It was time. Like a horse ready to run, he jarred forward but only an inch, before Sigurd placed his arm in front of him, holding him back. The archers notched their arrows and swords scrapped free of their sheaths, aimed at him. He wanted to snap at Sigurd and push past his brother, regardless of an arrow flying his way. Wrath spilled over him and his breath sharpened, trying to withhold the wishes of his brother. He would never do anything to upset his brothers, he had to be their advocate like he was when Ragnar was away, including now. But the time wasn't right, as he could see now, he must wait to attack. His hand still grasped his axe.

"Why didn't you also have us killed?" His brother asked. How was he not raging in madness? Was he not furious from Lagertha's betrayal or the murder of their mother? They were alone to deal with this mess.

"It had nothing to do with you. You are Ragnar's son," she said, "It was not your fault that your father was bewitched."

"It was a mistake not to kill us," he said, raising his axe in her direction.

"That was a chance I was prepared to take."

Pausing for a moment, he finalized his plan and stared at her with daggers in his eyes. He nodded at her – others may have taken it was an acceptance of her new title and the absolution of theirs, but Lagertha knew it was a challenge. Turning as though leaving, he stripped off his cloak in one sweep and paused, smiling. "Ubbe –, " Sigurd began, before being forced into a group of archers by his brother, who turned and charged up the Hall to Lagertha.

One shield-maiden came at him, but he cut her down in her thigh and then her chest as she fell. The warriors in the Hall stirred, prepared to rush, but Lagertha called them off. Another woman ran to meet him, he spun and caught her in the back. As he sliced her skin, blood pooled on the wood boards. Next, two men stood to move in front of Lagertha, shields braced for a fury of impact. He felt wild with hatred, like a wild dog starving for blood and rushed them hard. They were stronger than the women he had just killed or injured – he couldn't tell, he didn't care. They pushed back as one sent a forcefully blow to his cheek. He paused, almost in brazen awe at the man, before he countered with a hook to the man's face, pulling him off kilter. The line that the two men made up dissolved, leaving Lagertha open.

He took a step toward her before another warrior rushed him, attempting to tackle him. The man he had just punched grabbed him from behind and locked him in place. He fought and swung his axe at the man behind him and forced the other man and himself to the floor. He barrel-rolled and gathered his bearings, as his challenger sprang toward him and his axe met his stomach. Now the path to Lagertha was truly open, as men laid scattered on the floor. He charged her, a growl on his lips. She nodded to a man on the side of his path who swung at his legs, nicking behind his knee and forced him down. Shield-maidens sprang on him, and tackled him to his back, imprisoned. He fought against them, using all his energy to raise himself up, but moved hardly an inch. Like a caged animal, he snarled at her, glaring with fire at her. He gave a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the warriors on him and surrendered, laying his head back on the cold, damp floorboards.

 

She leapt up in amazement, nearly missing her head on the metal lantern hanging from the ceiling filled with fire; she would've chuckled in amusement if the Hall wasn't deafening quiet. She couldn't believe her ears. Completely ignoring the child she was pulling teeth from, all she could see was him, alive. She had spent so much of the day thinking about him as she worked, thinking for certain he was killed. One of the reasons she accepted Lagertha's request to look at her injured warriors and their families, was to hear their fate, and because refusing the new Queen might have gotten her killed.

She thought on everything she regretted not telling him: how she thought of him every day she was gone; how she missed his laugh when he was telling stories; how he smiled when he was teasing her; how his eyes matched the ocean's blue; how his lips felt when he kissed her goodbye – the small kisses that teenagers do when they don't know how to yet. She regretted bickering at him before talking with him when she came home; not kissing him back when he kissed her in the barn; not having sex with him like that kiss would have led to; not telling him she loved him.

"Where is our mother?"

But now, as he stood at the entrance of the Great Hall, all she wanted to do was rush over to him and save him from the pain he was about to endure. To block out the world and the horrors it possessed the last few days: to tell him about his mother. Her stomach dropped. He would try to kill Lagertha right here, right now.

Torvi and Astrid had moved in front of her. Had they thought she would help him get his revenge or was it coincidence? Regardless, all she had was her medical satchel on her, not her sword. She made a mental note to always carry it now. She saw the look in his eyes as he shifted his weight uneasily on his feet, he was taking inventory. Did he see her? She tried desperately to send him any plea to stop the attack he was brewing, but he didn't glance over at her.

Then suddenly, the ringing of metal on metal filled the Hall as swords were unsheathed and shields braced. "It was a mistake not to kill us," he glared, Hel burned bright in his eyes. Don't do anything stupid, she thought. She wrung her hands in uneasiness, and gave a calming breath for the both of them, hoping it reached him. When they were growing up it seemed like sometimes they shared the same mind, she hoped this was one of those moments.

They turned as to leave and she held her breath. Oh, no, she begged, as he shoved Sigurd into a group of guards. But the archers didn't fire. A few shield-maidens charged and were struck down with the hard blow of his axe. He turned wildly, swinging his axe with precision, his braid swinging in arcs behind him. One man he braced against punched him hard and she gave a sharp gasp. Then, in a blur he was on the floor, wrestling a man, weapons flying. She heard the soft squelch of bowel being punctured and the hard snap of a broken bone.

Then quickly, he was feet from her. Lagertha gave a nod to a man kneeling in front of her and he pulled his sword out, quickly slicing his thigh as he strutted by. He buckled hard onto his knees, grimacing in pain or frustration, or both. Shield-maidens descended upon him, forcing him down as he gave a heart wrenching growl to Lagertha, the fire still burning in his eyes. Astrid went to kick the axe out of his white-knuckled fist. Was she going to kill them now?

"Lhyrie," Lagertha called to her, motioning over to the wounded warriors sprawled out in her Hall. Was she supposed to go to Ubbe? Why heal a wounded man if he was destined to die? Was she supposed to go to the warriors she couldn't align with?

She hesitated and snatched her satchel from the ground by her feet. She slowly made her way to the clearing in the Hall, giving a slight curtsey to the Queen before ignoring Ubbe's glance as she walked by him. He raised his head enough against the force of the warriors to peer at her. She couldn't tell if his expression was awe or disappointment, but it filled her with guilt.

She first went to the women cut down first, they were mute compared to their other fighting friends and much too much blood ran rivers through the grain of the wood floors. She checked their wrist anyway, only to feel no life pulse through their delicate wrists and solemnly reached into her bag for mistletoe to place in their hands. It would protect their souls while waiting for the afterlife. One man was clutching his stomach, gasping in hard labored breaths, fear plastered on his face. Lhyrie kneeled in front of him and gently pulled his hands from his stomach. His intestines poured out in perfect loops and he began shaking in shock. Some women in the hall gasped and someone heaved. She gave a sober look toward Lagertha and she motioned to a man close to Lhyrie. Two bounding steps later and a large thrust, the man collapsed backward, a sword being pulled from his chest. Lhyrie closed her eyes tight as blood sprayed onto her and tried to see the man to Valhalla. The man was scared, petrified of death, but the thought a fastened death sat ill with her. Odin hadn't taken him yet.

Lagertha cleared her throat. "If you ever to try to do that again, Ubbe, you will not be so fortunate," she said as her warriors slowly released him from his hold, certain he had ended his fight.

Lhyrie moved to another man, his arm cut open with the bone poking through. He looked like he was about to charge Ubbe as he shook of the guards and scowled at Lagertha. Lhyrie gave the man a piece of leather soaked in withered poppy leaves to bite on. She pointed to another man to hold him while she grasped above and below the man's protruding injury. "Picture Freya in your bed," she whispered at him and snapped as forcefully as she could. She thought she went deaf in the ear he screamed in, and shook her head to facilitate hearing again as she wrapped a piece of ascaria leaf and cloth around the newly adjoined pieces.

Sigurd was thrust forward to stand by his brother in the center of the Hall and gave Lhyrie a horrified look at what she had just done to the man, who was now passed out leaning against a pillar. "You may gather the things we have piled that are not useful to us," Lagertha told them. "You may stay in Kattegat. But if you resist me, you will die."

It didn't seem like they would move from their spot, resistant to move in case an arrow found their backs. As Lhyrie stepped forward with a piece of cloth to tie off Ubbe's wound, he rushed past her, nearly running into her. They followed Astrid into their old rooms and she heard them rummage through things. She continued about the room, applying balms and ointments to the minor scrapes or bruises acquired in the fight, waiting for them to return back into the Hall. After a few minutes Astrid returned to Lagertha's side, but the two men did not join her. Lhyrie heard a side door slam behind the curtains. Trying not to seem desperate, she quickened her pace and quietly gathered her supplies into her bag, before slipping out the same doors that were just closed.

They were a few yards in front of her, moving slowly with Ubbe's limp. They had clothes draped over their arms, shields on their backs and bags weighing down their shoulders. They looked like homeless beggars – she figured they were now. "Sigurd! Ubbe!" She called quietly, half-running after them, as to not draw attention to them. Sigurd stopped and looked back at her but Ubbe shuffled forward toward his horse. "Let me help you," she said, catching up and pulling a bag from Ubbe's shoulder. It felt weighted with bricks and she nearly dropped it.

"Why?" He asked with a grunt, turning toward her.

"Because you need it," she said softly, trying to force the harsh look he was giving her away.

"You didn't in the Hall." He cocked his head to the side like he always did when he was proving a point. She missed that too when she was gone. She cleared her throat to conceal a smile.

"Ubbe, she –"

"That would've gotten us all killed. And I couldn't lose anyone else I loved," she said, setting down the heavy bag she was holding. Ubbe scanned her, perhaps trying to see if she had turned her alliances to Lagertha, but he looked intently, looking for a flaw. Sigurd started draping his bounty on his horse, ignoring them.

"Why were you in the Hall?"

"Ubbe, it doesn't matter," Sigurd said, rolling his eyes back at his brother.

"He's always been paranoid, Sigurd, you know that. I was doing my job as a healer," she said to Ubbe, matter-of-factly.

"She killed our mother – "

"And she killed mine." She rose up onto her toes to be eye level with him and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You don't get to use your pain to question my actions." She stared at him hard for a moment, trying not to lose her balance on her tip toes, until he broke eye contact and pulled of a row of clothes onto his horse. Sigurd was just staring at her with hopeless eyes.

"I'm sorry, Lhyrie," he said.

She shook off the sympathies and asked, "Where will you be going?"

Sigurd look toward his older brother. "Our father still has his old farmhouse," Ubbe said, picking up the package at her feet and tossing it to Sigurd, wincing in pain as he did.

"If you will not let me come and help you, at least let me bandage your leg before you bleed out."

He gave a half-hearted sigh and turned around, rubbing his brow. "Fine," he said, shrugging his shoulders and flipping his hands forward in nonchalance.

Kneeling in front of him, she grabbed a piece of cloth and a balm from her bag. He pulled back and grimaced as she applied the balm to his bleeding wound. She bit her lip and continued to layer it to stop the bleeding. Unwrapping the cloth and smoothing it out she looked up at Ubbe, making sure he was okay. He was looking up at the sky and fidgeting his hands. Suddenly, Lhyrie blushed and tried to ignore the piece of him in front of her. Her mind flashed to what the Frankish women taught her about sex and she turned a further shade of pink. Quickly, she pulled the cloth tight and Ubbe whelped in pain.

"Sorry," she apologized, jumping up from her position, and brushed her bloodied hands onto her dress.

"No, it's fine," he said, running his hands through his hair, trying to shake off the awkward situation they both felt.

Sigurd cleared his throat. "We should go."

Lhyrie pulled her bag onto her shoulder and took a step back. She watched as Ubbe cumbersomely tried to mount his horse without putting pressure on his leg, suppressing a smile as she knew he wouldn't ask for help. "Well, are you coming?" He looked back to ask her.

"I don't have a horse."

"Come on," he said, scooting back on his horse, grimacing, careful not to spill the clothes he was sitting on off the back of the horse.

She shook her head, hesitantly. "I have –,"

"You don't have anything here anymore," he said, turning his horse to be at her side. "Don't make us be alone tonight," he lowered his hand to her, raising his eyebrows in question. Lhyrie bit he inside of her cheek and took his hand, pulling herself up onto the horse in front of him. He shifted behind her and leaned forward to grab the reigns. As he pulled the horse into a trot behind his brother, Lhyrie looked back at the Great Hall and saw Astrid cross her arms and turn inside.

The remnants of the small village where Ragnar Lothbrok once lived were quiet besides the soft laps of river on the beach. Other structures nearby were burnt with ash or caved in from weather, and despite no formal protection, no animals or invaders seemed to do damage. It was a few hours ride from Kattegat in their slowed pace, as anything faster than a trot would cause Ubbe to grimace in pain, a little more than a half-day's walk. Blood began to pool on the bandage again and Lhyrie silently cursed herself for not making them stop so she could fix it. She was hoping she didn't need to cauterize it when they got to the farm.

They spent most of journey in silence, both men coming to grips of the situation unfolding in their hometown. Lhyrie could feel Ubbe tense up and see him clenching the reigns on and off as they rode, replaying the scenes in his mind. She grew restless on horseback. She couldn't remember the last trip she made on horseback, or been more than a few hours on one and grew sore. Trying not to shift too much in her seat in front of him, she made a mental list of all the flowers and ferns they passed on their journey.

"Lovely decorations," she commented, look up at the bones suspended from the ceiling. There was a snake skin coiled on the main beam and perhaps a dozen animals, from a stag to a rabbit, hanging from the ceiling with fishing line. Besides the unusual artwork, the farmhouse was pleasantly dressed, with a large bed on one end and a table, kiln and smaller bed at the other. She piled the heavy bags she carried in on the table.

"There should be ale in the corner," Ubbe said, sitting down with a hard plop on a chair, carefully bringing his leg up onto another. He leaned forward and reached for lint to light the kiln and candles. Lhyrie pulled up a chair next to him and the fire and began unwrapping his bandage. It had reopened, but not deep enough that she needed to brand him. She reached for her bag and pulled out a leaf. Crushing into a fine powder, she stuffed it into the wound. "Acch, stop doing that!" Ubbe begged, nearly kicking her.

"Stop fussing," she said, rewrapping it. "I should've put something on your eye. It's swollen shut now."

"No, no, no. Nothing more." He pushed his chair away from her and the torture she was providing. He grabbed the ale from Sigurd who was laughing at him. "Shut up," he warned.

Lhyrie smiled wide and accepted the ale Sigurd handed to her. It tasted bitter and old as the rush of alcohol hit her hard and made her lightheaded instantly. She must have made a face, because both of them started laughing at her. "What?"

"Careful, the Chinese slave, Yidu, made this for our father. Who knows what's in it," Sigurd chuckled.

"I don't see you two affected," she said, teasing.

"We've had it before," Ubbe smirked.

"I don't think she'll last a glass," Sigurd commented as her face began to flush. Lhyrie took another sip.

"You can only last a glass," Ubbe threw his empty cup at his brother.

She felt her vision start to blur and the feeling in her fingers fade. What was in this? She thought. It would be useful for setting bones. The world spun around her and blackness eloped her vision. "I should have warned you..." she heard before succumbing to sleep.

 

Lhyrie held her head as she sat up and stretched the sleep out of her. They had slept on the floor and gave her the giant bed to sleep in. Still passed out, she crept outside and grabbed her medical bag, careful not to wake them. She was met with someone at the door.

"Hello," a cheery voice whispered at her. "Don't worry," she said, sensing Lhyrie about to scream or fight her, "I will not kill you or Ragnar's son. I just want to talk to them." Astrid looped her arm with hers and pulled her away from the farmhouse and toward her horse. "If you wait here, I will give you a ride back to Kattegat."

"What do you want with them?" Lhyrie asked, wishing again that she had her sword with her.

"I just want to talk," Astrid replied with a wide-eyed grin. "I promise." She pinched Lhyrie's cheek before turning to walk back into the farmhouse.

She wanted to run and knock her down, but stayed planted in her spot as she watched the woman sneak into the farmhouse as quiet as a ghost. Her sword and shield stayed hitched to the horse Lhyrie was guarding. Several anxious minutes past before she heard talking come from the house and then a clash at the door, like an object was thrown. Astrid walked out confidently with a smile.

"See, just to talk," she said, climbing onto her horse and offering a hand to Lhyrie. Still feeling the effects of whatever she drank last night, she was hesitant on walking back to Kattegat without water or food, so she took Astrid's hand and climbed onto the horse. Part of her felt like she was betraying Ubbe and Sigurd by doing so, but it was just a horse ride. Her hatred for Lagertha and, in turn, Astrid, was still fresh in her mind.

"I know you are stronger than Margarethe," Astrid said about halfway to Kattegat. "So I won't ask you to betray Ragnar's sons."

"Good," Lhyrie replied, "Because I would kill you if you did."


	6. Chapter 6

Her stomach rumbled and she regretted not having a slice of bread before leaving Kattegat, as she now smelled the vapors emitting from her bag. She was saving it for her expedition today. Today she would venture out and find the flowers she had committed to memory from her pass to and from the Ragnarsson's new home. She prepared for a long day.

She pushed past the beggars and the stalls on the outskirts of town, looking idly on the small trinkets of silver they wished to sell. She thought upon the many adventures these trinkets took, coming from faraway lands and the scenes they must have seen. How she somewhat longed to venture out again on foreign lands and explore the wide world around her, as Kattegat held little for her now.

How surprised she was, that daily life came about so naturally. The traders went about their business, the farmers went back to harvesting, the blacksmiths went on smiting. The world kept turning, as hers and many others, felt spiraling down. She returned to work, not working with her aunt – no that memory was much to fresh. But out of her uncle's home where she fixed the minor aches and pains that working life brought about. She birthed a few babes and watched a few die, and cried with their mothers, rethinking how cruel death was. She amputated an arm that was stampeded over by a flock of sheep, wishing the Gods would take her hearing from her when she witnessed that howl. She avoided Lagertha and Astrid, certain her threat to Astrid did not sit well with the court. She did not want to fight the court, nor want to abide them.

Passing the outskirts of town, she heard her named called by a familiar voice.

"Lhryie? Wait!"

Ubbe sprinted up the hill toward her, out of breath and sweating in the morning heat. He looked well, his injuries from the fight in the Hall were healing nicely, only a slight scar formed on his face and no limp lingered anymore. His blue eyes smiled as she caught her just leaving the gates.

"Ubbe, what are you doing here?" She asked, she hadn't seen him since that time, a few weeks ago.

"I sold my horse," he said, opening his arms so that he had nothing of value. He had a few traps hanging from his shoulders and a bag of grain, but other than his sword, he remained empty handed. "Are you going by the river?" He asked. She nodded in response. "May I join you? I have traps to set on my way back."

"I would enjoy the company, and someone who knows that land," she replied with a smile. "I see your leg is healing well. All that pain was worth it," she said with a laugh, looking back at him.

"I wouldn't say worth it, but indeed it is healed. Thank you." They walked in silence for a moment. Lhyrie was gazing at the blue skies and clouds floating effortlessly by, the Viking summer she missed while she was away. "Are you collecting plants?" He asked after a time.

"Yes, I remember where some are, but others I'm not so sure. Are you sure you're up to such a walk?"

"I have no horse now, so I better be."

They followed the river and the tall grasses that bordered its course for a short time, before stumbling on a long flowing field, filled with lavender and daffodils. The purple spires made Lhyrie forget the bread that was still warm in her bag as their scent filled her with warmth and comfort. She breathed in deep and let the scent wash over her.

"Here, help me," she said to Ubbe, skipping into the field and pulling at a lavender plant. She put the petals into her bag, but not before bringing a handful of them to her nose to smell. She gave a great sigh and continued to pluck.

"Lavender?" He asked curiously, but came to help her pull petals.

"Yes, it's calming and helpful for sleep," she said, twirling to look at him. He was sauntering behind her, but pulled petals off the plants nevertheless. "Make sure you grab daffodils, too." She called.

"Why daffodils?"

"They're good for digestion and if you ingest poison."

"I hope I don't do that," he said dryly.

"But if you do, reach for daffodil," she said, pulling the bright yellow flowers off one. It stained her fingers, but she didn't mind. "It's a silly weed, but great medicine." His hands were full of purple and yellow pedals, the various colors dying his fingertips and cervices. She turned back to him, her hands just as full, as he sneezed and sent the pedals flying. "Now, look what you've done," she teased.

"Sorry," he apologized, rubbing his nose, yellow and purple leaving their mark on his face. He sneezed again. "These plants don't sit well with me."

"Just not your nose," she said, handing him a spare cloth. He took it freely and ran it over his face.

"Sigurd's been having nightmares; would that help him?" He asked, hesitantly wiping the dander from his hands.

"If thrown in the fire at sleep, or," to his weary side eye, "if crushed into an oil and applied to the temples."

"And how would you use daffodil?"

"You could eat it whole," she said, popping one whole flower into her mouth, but pursed her lips to its sour taste, "But it's quite bitter and tastes better when brewed as a tea."

He picked up a few of the plants he had scattered on the ground and placed them in her bag and asked, "How'd you learn so much?"

"My mother taught me," she looked down with a gulp.

"I'm sorry for her death. Lagertha had no right to kill her."

"She took up her sword, there was no way they would've known she was a healer." She wrung her hands on the cloth Ubbe gave back to her and pushed off back toward the river. The day was pooling sweat on her brow and the talk of the dead made her flush further. "But let's not talk on that now."

They crossed into the shade the trees that lined the river provided and she ran her fingers through the cold water and then over her face, taking in the refreshing touch that cooled her sudden warmth of sadness. The thoughts surrounding her mother's death and the overturn of Kattegat grew less and less in her mind over the weeks, but hardly anyone spoke of them in Kattegat and Ubbe had been withdrawn from it.

"Where are you going to set your traps?" She asked as they followed the river bank. She watched as the water rolled over the rocks in sharp angles.

"Where the forest grows thicker near the river. Not for a little while though."

"Is the pool this way?" She looked around, trying to gather her bearings. She was utterly lost already and they'd been walking just a few hours perhaps.

"No," he said with a laugh. "That is the other way," he said, pointing behind them down the river.

"Are you sure? This looks familiar."

"Yes, very."

The forest was growing thicker, the endless trunks and leaves that were throwing light made her dizzy if she tried to sort through them. She tried to map her surroundings as she walked; the swimming pool and training field where east; they were walking west, northwest it seemed. Lavender, daffodils and a fairly large batch of seaweeds already dotted the landscape in this direction; she would try to explore easterly tomorrow.

She would have to remember to wear a dress tomorrow, too, instead of slacks and a tunic. Treading into the river to grab the batch of seaweed, she shivered from the ice-cold waters that pierced her cloth pants and stayed damp. Laying out on the soft grasses she dried quickly in the hot sun as Ubbe set one of his traps within the woods. He was muttering something as he walked, moving his hands like he was explaining something.

"I can't hear you," she called at him, leaning back on her elbows. He stopped abruptly and turned around, his brow cocked in one direction.

"Oh, nothing," he mumbled before turning back and disappearing behind a tree.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the loaf of bread she had baked earlier that day. Tearing into it, she wafted in the odors, realizing how hungry she had been from walking. She wished she had some cheese to go along with it, and watched a few fish jump from the river as her stomach rumbled more.

"You don't have any else with that?" Ubbe asked, emerging from the forest.

"I wish. Didn't you pick up any food from the market when you sold your horse?"

"No," he smirked, sitting down next to her and ripping a piece of bread off her loaf. "I was hoping these traps gave more food."

They rested for a moment before setting off again. Lhyrie wasn't quite certain how far she would venture today, at least until she had to part with Ubbe, however far along that was. She was certain she had seen black hellebore coming to and from their residence several weeks ago, but now she was not so sure, having walked what seemed like hours already and not found them. They had stopped periodically, letting Ubbe set a trap here or there and she grazed a field, hoping to come up with a useful plant. The sun had to be at midday by now, as she could feel the sweat clinging to her and Ubbe removed the outer layer of his vest.

"Will you marry Jagar?" He asked as they sat by the river. He was knotting together a net to submerge into the rapids and asked without looking up from his work.

Lhyrie was sorting through the flowers she had picked and grouping them by purpose; she blushed and wiped a piece of hair from her eyes. "He would make a good husband," she told him.

He snorted and looked up at her, pulling his knot tight. "As a farmer."

"Your father was a farmer, remember that. And… it's reliable work."

"You'd absolutely hate it."

"I would grow to enjoy it. Besides, I could still heal as well. A lot of the injuries I treat are farming related anyway."

"You should be a shield-maiden," he said, entombed with his work. Lhyrie shook him off with a slight smirk. "If Lagertha saw you fight she would want you in her guard. I would've been gutted like a fish if you didn't have your sheath on," he raised his tunic up to expose the scar on his abdomen.

"No… I couldn't fight for Lagertha. And that was luck," she pulled a weed from the grass and rolled it through her fingers. She looked over at him hesitantly. "How about you? Are you going to marry Margarethe?"

He shifted slightly, but didn't break his concentration or his progress. "She is a slave."

"You could still marry her." He shrugged his shoulders at her. "I heard a rumor…" she proceeded cautiously, "that she was the reason you and Sigurd went to Hedeby?" She stopped twirling the blade of grass and looked toward him. He stopped and stared at her, not coldly or angry, just a soft blank stare. She wasn't quite certain, but the way Astrid mentioned her on their ride to Kattegat made it seem so.

Clearing his throat and went back to his net. "Well, yes. She lured us there to try and decide who would have her."

"Mhm…" She wasn't certain what to say, she wasn't sure he was even going to address it. "Like you said, she is a slave. She had no choice."

"That is why I did not kill her."

"Did you decide then… who would have her?" She blushed as she asked. What would it matter who had Margarethe? She tried not to be jealous, but couldn't refrain herself from asking.

"I am the oldest," he said simply.

"And because you're the oldest, you can take whoever you want?" His answer irked something in her and she boarded anger. She tried to steady her voice and remain neutral, but her words came faster than she could control.

"I ask permission from them."

"They are slaves – they would never say no, despite how they feel."

"Perhaps, but I don't think so… Have you had sex?" He threw his finished net into the river and looked up at her.

She felt her face get hot with embarrassment and continued to play with a blade of grass. "Yes," she answered simply.

"To more than more one man?"

"I don't see how that concerns you."

"What if Jagar is terrible in bed?"

"Than that would be my concern."

Ubbe snorted and pulled at his new net, testing its make in the water. "Then you know that it is hard to lie during sex."

"Not for women," she giggled at him.

Just then, his net cut loose and was pulled down the river, fish flapping through the holes. Ubbe ran after it, cursing and trotted into the quick river, catching it before it slipped farther down. "How does fish sound?" He asked, pulling the net upward, several fish dangling off its loop.

"That sounds wonderful, but shouldn't we be at your crossroads by now?"

"Oh, we past that a while ago," he answered, wrestling with the fish.

"Why didn't you turn home?"

"You weren't finished with your flower hunting, and you have absolutely no idea where you are."

"I would have found my way," she said, crossing her arms with a grunt.

"You are far too pretty to be eaten by a bear," he said with a smirk in her direction, finally successful in wringing the fish free of the net.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. They both looked up at the skies, noticing the clouds growing thicker and moving as fast as the river at their feet. Ubbe, fish in hand, ran where the woods ended and looked up curious at the sky. Thor struck again. Lhyrie rubbed her arms together for warmth as the wind passed cold by her and she shivered. She grabbed her satchel to her shoulder and met Ubbe out in the plain.

"A storm is coming – quick," he said, motioning her toward him. "We have wasted more day talking, we will not reach Kattegat before nightfall."

"Could we reach the farmhouse before the rain?" She asked, trying to rub the goosebumps out of her arms.

He furrowed his brow, looking out into the rolling plains, as if looking for a sign. "No… but I think my brother's hunting lodge is just over the ridge. Come." He grabbed her hand and pressed forward, away from the protection of the woods into the full force winds.

Ubbe took off his ruddy leather vest and gave it to her, the small extra layer added a myriad of warmth to her as they half-ran to wherever their destination was. The sky started to putter rain at them slowly, it would stop then start again, teasing them mercilessly. If Lhyrie wasn't lost before, she certainly was now and thanked the Gods that Ubbe was with her. Lightening cracked between the clouds and sent shivers down her spine.

By the time they had found the cabin, night had fallen on them. The wind had torn through every part of Lhyrie's being and soaked her through the bone. She didn't feel that she would ever be truly warm again. It felt like winter had pressed her bones and it was much farther than Ubbe thought it was. They were high into the mountains now. Perhaps they had been climbing all day and she didn't notice but she was pleased when she saw the faint outline of a cabin built into the side the valley.

Ubbe pushed past a simply made fence and into the small cabin. He left the door ajar for a moment as Lhyrie stood shivering in its shadow. "There is a chest in the corner with dry clothes," he said, pointing just past her as he fumbled in another corner, searching for lint.

Lhyrie stumbled over to where she thought he was pointing. She couldn't see anything yet as her eyes hadn't adjusted. A crack of lightening in the sky illuminated the tiny room for a moment so that she saw the wooden trunk a few yards from her. She blindly felt for it as the light faded and she found the lip of the trunk and swung it wide. She hesitantly groped down, hoping not to feel any dead creature hiding there for warmth. Eventually she reached a single tunic laying upon the bottom.

"There's only one!" She called back to him, hearing him strike the flint and saw sparks fly.

"You take that one," he said, finally getting a good strike on the flint, as fire grew in the little hearth in the middle of the room. He tore off his tunic and stripped it over his head, placing the soaked fabric over the back of a chair to dry against the fire. Lhyrie caught herself staring at his bare chest and her eyes lingered over the scar on his lower abdomen. She quickly turned away to hide the red creeping up her face and pulled the lone tunic out of the chest.

She turned her back to Ubbe, making sure he was occupied doing something other than staring at her, before quickly throwing off his vest and her own soaked tunic. She threw the blue long sleeved dry one over her shoulders and cursed that it didn't hit longer on her legs like she hoped it to. It hit midthigh instead of longer so that she could remove her soaked trousers. She scrunched her nose in contemplation before turning her head back to Ubbe to see if he was looking. Seeing he was fumbling in the opposite corner, she quickly slid her trousers off, trying not to lose her balance as they stuck to her legs. She pulled down the edges of the tunic as far as she could stretch them before noticing a fur on what seemed to be the bed next to the chest. Throwing it over her shoulders, it covered her completely to the floor and she reviled in its warmth.

"I knew there was ale here," Ubbe exclaimed, filling a glass for her.

"It's not like that Chinese ale, is it?" She asked hesitantly.

"No," he laughed.

"Good," she said, downing the glass in a single gulp. She hadn't realized how hungry or thirsty she had become on their journey to the cabin. Her stomach grumbled as the ale hit it.

"I seem to have lost a fish in the run," he told her, holding up the single fish still caught in his net. "We have one fish, a crate of ale and mushrooms."

"Then I think it will be a good night," she said with a laugh, raising her glass in his direction. "At least we're warm."

He took her glass and refilled it, as well as his own. Lhyrie wrung out her hair and combed it through her fingers so it could dry in the heat of the fire. Sitting down on the bench with Ubbe she grabbed her cup and took another long sip. He began scaling the fish and set it over the fire. "The mushrooms are over there," he said, pointing with his knife toward a counter.

"I haven't had mushrooms since… do you remember the night Ivar went into Torvi's bed and laid with her? How she screamed so loud we thought the sky would crack?"

Ubbe nearly spit out his ale. "I thought she was going to step on him so much she would kill him, like beating out a mouse." He grunted hard and took a deep sip, "You left later that month."

She sipped her ale in silence, but went and grabbed the tray of mushrooms to bring to the bench. Tasting one, she let it fall over her and let her mind wander slightly. "That was also the night we laid out by the fire."

The fish had little meat on it, but they shared it anyway. Ubbe reached for a mushroom and ate it cautiously. He moved the crate closer to them, seeming their dinner had little sustenance and ale was best alternative and refilled their glasses. Lhyrie couldn't remember if this was her fourth or fifth glass, but it tasted good.

They spent several hours talking, laughing, and almost reminiscing about life in Kattegat when they were younger. They avoided the year leading up to her leaving Kattegat but their childhood remained a lively topic. The bench was uncomfortable, but her head felt light and joyful; she felt like she could talk for ages. She turned so that she curled one leg upon the bench to rest, her lap covered by the warm fur to face Ubbe.

The fire began to dwindle down and the weight of ale being drunk seemed to pool under their eyes. Lhyrie tried to suppress a yawn.

"Are you a Valkyrie?" He asked almost at a whisper, setting down his glass on the near empty crate and leaned forward toward her.

"No," she scoffed, playing with a curl that poked by her face.

"I had a dream about you a few months ago," he said, taking her hand from her curl and running his fingers through it. "You were in a field with dying men. Going to some, but not to others. Like you were choosing their fates." His fingers caressed the curl and then the side of her face and cheekbone.

"Only the Gods can choose someone's fate," she answered, suddenly aware of her breath slowing.

"See, the Valkyries follow Odin – my father is said to be a son of Odin. You heal people and choose their fates," she opened her mouth in protest, but his hand moved slowly over it. "and they are extremely beautiful… So, are you a Valkyrie?" His hand moved softly around her jaw.

"I am not a Valkyrie." She watched as the fire cast a golden glow over his face and watched it dwell in his wide blue eyes. His breathing slowed just as hers had. She felt a warmth start to grow in her and felt her leg curled up on bench start to ease open a little more.

"I also thought, that when my father returned I might kill him." Lhyrie became increasingly aware of his hand that was now trailing down her neck.

"And… when I returned?" She asked with a gulp.

"I loved you…" His fingers wrapped around her neck and she began to breathe heavier. She didn't think he would kill her – that's something Ivar would do, not Ubbe. His grip on her neck tightened, but not choking her. He pulled her into a deep kiss and lessened the grip on her throat to run down her back. He leaned further in toward her kissed her harder, more desperate like he needed her to stay warm.

Lhyrie let her leg fall so that she straddled the bench and cupped her hands around Ubbe's face, circling her fingers in his braid. She pushed against him, toward him, frantic to get closer. He wrapped his hands around her waist and moved her sit on his lap. She felt his warmth pulse through her. They broke apart for a moment as Ubbe tried to remove the fur that was sitting on her lap and had pushed its way between them. He threw it close to fire and Lhyrie gasped and chuckled as it almost went aflame. He eyes turned back to her and smiled. She pulled his lips to hers and breathed in the smell of ash and ale on him.

As her hands pulled his face toward hers, his wrapped around her back and began picking at the edges of her tunic. He ran his hands underneath it onto her bare skin; however cold his hands were, she was instantly warmed by the fire raging just behind her. She traced the edges of his chest and down to feel the fresh scar on his stomach; Ubbe exhaled slowly before pulling her closer and standing, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Don't trip," she told him as he shuffled around the fire.

"Shut up," and he kissed her again.

Slowly he walked her over to the bed in the corner of the small cabin and gently set her down on the bed of hay and feathers, softly lifting her tunic over her shoulders. Lhyrie felt the smooth fur covering the bed and dug her fingers into it as Ubbe wedged his knee between her thighs and kissed her neck. She gasped and arched her back as his hands explored further, like when they did when they were teenagers. She hoped they didn't need to be high every time this happened. After entirely too long, her hands found the laces of his trousers and pulled them loose with his help. She giggled as he did a sort of shimmy to loosen them more, which he interrupted with a kiss and thrust. Moans lingered on both their lips as they spent the rest of the night curled up as one.


	7. Chapter 7

"Ubbe…"

"Mhmm?"

"Ubbe…" She shook him gently.

"Nmmfph." He swatted an arm at her and rolled on his side.

"Ubbe," she said once again, for the tenth time already this morning. She rolled over and pressed against his back, rubbing his strong shoulders in an effort to wake him. He smelled like sweet sugared ale and morning dew. "We need to move soon if we wish to make it back to Kattegat before nightfall."

He peeked his eyes open slightly to look at her over his shoulder. Wrapping his arms around hers, he pulled her closer to him and his kissed her hand. "I don't wish to make it back to Kattegat. We can stay here."

"Oh, we can stay here?" She asked with a raised brow.

"And continue from last night…"

"And continue from last night…" she repeated as he rolled over the face her. His arms encircled her and rubbed her back as she did his. His fingers groped lower as his morning beard scuffed her cheek and her lips found his. He tasted like morning and his warmth filled her as they continued their act from the previous night.

Ubbe was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes; his snores shook her awake as her eyes started to droop to follow his lead. Lhyrie groaned as she shifted her weight and curled her legs that felt weighted with bricks into her chest. She peeked over at Ubbe to see if her movement woke him, but his snores confirmed he was still sleeping. It seemed like her entire body ached as she tried to stretch out the knots in her back and legs. She was glad she didn't need to ride a horse today. She became painfully aware of the burden horses endure from a long day's ride.

About to shake Ubbe awake again, she stopped with her hand on his shoulder. They were not in a hurry. Like he said a few weeks ago, there was nothing in Kattegat for them anymore. She rubbed his shoulder gently, feeling the tense muscles beneath her palm. She wondered if he was as sore as she was, as her eyes found a few new bruises and scratches on his back.

Softly, she propped herself on her elbows and moved a fur to partially cover Ubbe. As she rose, she threw a smaller soft fur around her bare shoulders and tiptoed on the cold wood floor over to the smoking fire. Poking it with a stick, she cursed the sun for not warming the small cabin yet and the fire for diminishing through the night. She fumbled through a table near her, trying to find the flint to strike a new fire until her fingers felt the smooth stone. It ragged a mere minutes later, but she wished it would warm her faster as she tried to pull her fur closer to her skin and curled her knees into her chest.

Looking over at the sleeping figure a few feet from her, Lhyrie watched as his bare chest rose with each breath. She felt a mild rush of embarrassment fill her cheeks as she gazed at his body, but allowed herself to linger, reviewing the many kisses she planted on his chest and crevices she grazed. She felt her cheeks grow hot and pink, and buried her face in her knees childishly. They were adults and she was a free woman. The only thing hallowing the events of the last night was Jagar.

So why did she feel so guilty? She had known and loved Ubbe the 20 years she had known him and this final reunion after 5 years should be a celebratory thing, not one that was making her cower and blush. But she also knew she had feelings, not quite love – more the infatuation that love could exist – toward Jagar and that was making her feeling guilty. But it shouldn't, she tried to argue with herself. Ubbe was a prince of Kattegat, former prince now, the son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Not that Ubbe took any advantage in his father's fame – Ragnar did abandon them when he was 14. Though being raised in Kattegat and the oldest of Aslaug's children, he was well liked and well-loved and could use that to win the people to his liking. Not for fame, but to gain political respect and position. He could be a great leader, a great ruler. Although that was something Lhyrie couldn't picture herself supporting, she could picture herself raiding and healing troops. But the income of silver and goods wasn't inveterate.

But Jagar was a farmer. And he didn't hold a grudge with her for weeks over something out of her hands – for leaving Kattegat when she was 15 with her family. Jagar also didn't have a slave he was having sex with and only the God's knew if Ubbe would go back to Margarethe, and if this was a one-night drunken occurrence. And she had only known him a handful of days before he left for England. Lhyrie shook her head, trying overlook the questions propping in her mind. She would answer them when the time came. For now, she could try to enjoy Ubbe's presence without feeling guilt over Jagar and not feeling self-conscious over sleeping with a man.

Feeling the thirst of having too much ale, she longed for a cold sip of water. She wondered if they had a rain barrel outside to collect water, but doubted men to think of something as simple for a hunting cabin. She quietly slipped the fur off her shoulders and traded it for the longer one she placed on Ubbe, the one that completely covered her naked body to the floor, careful not to disturb his still sleeping figure. Furtively, she crept out of the door, holding it so it wouldn't slam and wake him. Had she seen a creek or lake nearby as they ran in? The cabin was positioned between valleys so there must be, she thought. She scoured the troughs and peaks that built the mountains around her for any sign of flowing water. On the horizon, she saw a peep of brilliant blue hide between a mass of green, though it seemed to dive into a valley hundreds of feet deep. That must be the fjord and Kattegat, far too far.

She peered her eyes over the landscape, blocking the sun rising above the hills from her eyes, until she saw a small lake, almost a pond, nestled into the side of a mountain; it barely produced a reflection. Lhyrie looked back at the cabin and snuck back inside. She found Ubbe's tunic draped over a chair and threw the cloth over her shoulders. It fit her like an old dress that she had outgrown, hitting at her calves. She grabbed the fur she wore earlier and headed out the door to grab water. In the small fenced yard of the cabin she found an overturned bucket and made her way over the soggy grass and mud to the lake, making sure to stay in view of the cabin and sleeping Ubbe.

It didn't take long to reach. The water was surprisingly warm despite Lhyrie being chilled to the bone, like a fire was warming it from below. She wondered if they knew it was a hot spring. She grabbed a handful of water and slurped nosily, allowing it to quench her fully. Savoring in its warmth, she sat and dipped her toes in the water and thought for a moment to bathe. She bit the inside of her cheek in thought and looked around her. Not that anyone was around – the cabin was in the middle of nowhere. Slipping off Ubbe's tunic, she slid into the steamy bath and gave an exalted sigh.

The lake was small but it was deep – there was no beach and just after a step she could not feel the bottom. The water was somewhat buoyant so little effort was needed to stay afloat. She could enjoy the warmth even more, not having to struggle or stand on the rocky bottom. She swam to the middle of the pool, trying to feel where the spring was, but could not locate it. Dipping under the water, she let her hair soak and untangled it in the water and scrubbed her skin clean. She wished she was worn shoes to walk from the cabin, as her feet would get dirty again. Watching as her fingers effortlessly floated upon the surface of the water, Lhyrie let them prune until the sun was above the mountains. They wouldn't make it back to Kattegat tonight, but she didn't care. She was happy, full of warmth and luculent that she wouldn't get too attached to Ubbe until Jagar returned from England. She had decided that as she was floating in silence. Until then, why not enjoy his presence? And she would continue her white Hellebore so she couldn't get with child.

"Hello there!"

Lhyrie's once warmth turned ice cold where she swam. She had been facing the mountain rising from the lake and not on the green valleys behind her. Not that she had a weapon on her, she walked here barely dressed apart from Ubbe's tunic and a wolfs fur, and in the water, obviously completely bare.

"Good thing you didn't take my trousers too." Lhyrie recognized the voice as it came closer, his figure moving into sight as he crossed a hill.

"That would have been embarrassing," she said, as she swam closer to the lake's edge.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" He asked as he kneeled in front of her.

"I originally came for fresh water, but it felt wonderful so I needed to swim. Will you join me?"

Ubbe gave her curious look and flicked some water at her. She scrunched her nose and fought an urge to splash back. "Did we not get sopping wet yesterday?"

"But this is warm," she said, twirling in the water and making ripples.

"You had me worried when you weren't in the cabin."

"You should've awoke when I tried earlier," she smirked at him. "And now you've found me."

He gave her that same look and stood. "Sigurd always thought there were giant eels in here."

"I have not been eaten yet," Lhyrie teased and treaded water away from him so she was back into the center of the pool. Ubbe still stood hesitantly on the edge. "Don't tell me you're scared."

That's what got him. Pursing his lips in challenge, he stripped his pants down to his ankles and gave a running start to the pool. He dived smoothly into its black water, sending waves and Lhyrie bobbing against its edges. Emerging from the water, he shook his head so that water sprayed from his hair and braid and shot water in her direction. He gave her a defiant, cocky smile and swam toward her. "See."

"After inducement." She splashed water at him and he closed his eyes shut to face its blow. He pushed water back and they giggled like children, splashing water at one another, forming a tempest in the small pool. They moved closer together, like planets pulled by orbit, forcing water to ripple around them until they were united. Ubbe clasped her hands together to keep her from splashing him. Still smiling, he lowered his lips to hers and they kissed until Ubbe suddenly placed his hand on her shoulders and forced her under the water. By instinct she gulped as he shoved her down and coughed when she broke the surface to see Ubbe swimming devilishly away, laughing. "The eels will get you now, Ragnarsson," she cursed him, coughing.

"There is only one eel in this pool," he called from the opposite side. He leaned on the edge of the grass and smiled at her.

"That line cannot possibly work," she half-asked, swimming over toward him.

"We'll see," he smirked as he pulled her close and she wrapped her legs around him. The water made it difficult and slippery to hold on to him, so Lhyrie had to lock her ankles around his back and press hard against him. She pulled him down to kiss her and tasted the fresh water on his lips. The edge of the pool was a sharp drop from grass to the depths of the water and Ubbe pressed her against it.

"I don't think your eel is an eel anymore," she laughed when she broke from him. She could feel him hard against her.

"Perhaps not," he said and kissed her again. Lhyrie shifted against the muddy backdrop and he moved inside her.

 

A few minutes later, out of breath with sweat pooling on their already flushed brows, Ubbe lifted himself up to sit on the water's edge, his feet dangling into the water. The sun illuminated his messy blonde hair from behind as it dripped dry. Lhyrie flipped to float on her back and stare at the blue sky and clouds above.

"I think you're a fish," Ubbe commented, smiling.

She flashed her legs together and down, moving like the mermaids in the fables. Water rained down around her and she felt happy. The first real time she'd been happy in weeks – since her mother's passing.

"I haven't felt this warm all summer," she told him, swimming toward the shore.

"The sun is hot today," he said, stretching out on his back to suntan.

"Yes, but the water warms my bones."

"You will be as wrinkled as The Seer if you stay in there any longer," he teased.

The sun was starting to dip lower between the mountain passes, but it held on to the day's warmth nevertheless. Her stomach rumbled in hunger and she realized she hadn't eaten today. They had no food at the cabin from yesterday's adventures. "I wish there was fish in here," she said, leaning on the shoreline and tickled Ubbe's toes. He flinched and drew his feet away from her.

"I caught a rabbit earlier," he peeked at her.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? I could eat a horse."

"We were busy and you are enjoying yourself."

"I would much rather eat than swim," she told him.

"Come on then," he said, pulling on his trousers and grabbing his tunic, moving to put in on.

"Ahem," Lhyrie cleared her throat, as she would have nothing to wear back to the cabin. "I need that."

"Ehh –, "he shrugged, pulling the tunic on. "You look better without it."

"Ubbe…" She held out her hand, begging for the tunic.

"He is right… you look better without the clothing," a voice said from behind Ubbe. He turned sharp on his heel when he heard the man, and Lhyrie sheepishly covered herself with one hand as she hung onto the small lake's edge. Ubbe instinctly reached for the nonexistent sword on his hip and groped at thin air, his eyes never faltering from the man now walking down the hill, his sword drawn toward them. He had a raggedly thick beard and long, matted and unbraided hair of what used to be blonde under a mess of mud. His sword looked freshly sharpened and it was the cleanest thing on him as it shone in the high sun. Some ways behind him, two more men appeared at the top of the hill, looking just as disheveled and outlawed as the first man. He paused a few feet from Ubbe, his sword unwavering at his throat. "Don't try anything, boy," he said as Ubbe shifted his feet.

"We don't have anything," Lhyrie quipped. The man peeked around Ubbe to look at her and formed a thin smile on his cracked lips. She stirred uneasily under his glare.

"Oh, you have plenty, girl," he said as his comrades joined him; they cackled as they joined his side. "Out of the water," he demanded, the thin smile cracking to reveal half-missing teeth.

Lhyrie hesitantly lifted out of the water, awkwardly trying to cover herself with her hands as she stood on the shoreline. She bowed her head to ignore the drooling looks on the three men standing before her. Ubbe tugged on his tunic, moving to take it off.

"Oh, no," the front man said, edging his sword closer to Ubbe.

Ubbe pursed his lips and, without taking his eyes off the man pointing his sword as his throat, peeled the tunic away and over his head. He tossed it to Lhyrie who grabbed it quickly like candy. One of the men moved to peel it away from her hands, and she wrestled with him swiftly, freeing it from his grasp. She had just enough time to slip it overhead as the man grabbed her from behind the waist and she fought, trying to wiggle away from his hold. The man holding her laughed at her feeble attempt and bent down to sniff her hair. Lhyrie grunted and flung her head back at him, hoping to collide with his, but missed and hit his unmoving shoulder. She saw stars floating above Ubbe's head.

"Let her go," he threatened to the man presuming to be their leader.

"She would make a good slave… or a good lay," the man jeered. That got another snicker from his partners and the man holding Lhyrie moved one of his dirt caked fingers to her tunic's hem. She got just enough leverage to whack his hand away. He was a portly man and she could feel his sweaty belly on her back. He smelled like a pig's pen and shit. One arm encircled her around her waist, pinning her one arm flat against her and he held the other with that same hand. His other hand was no longer touching her tunic, but hung at his side. She wondered if she could get enough force to kick up behind her in-between his legs.

"That is a son of Ragnar Lothbrok," Lhyrie spat at the man. "I wouldn't cross him."

"I don't care who you are," he said to Ubbe but moved toward her. "Ragnar is no longer King, and you no longer matter." He grabbed Lhyrie under the chin and lifted her head to examine her. She fought back, jerking her head and Ubbe took a step toward them. The other man raised his sword at him in warning. "You are prettier when you keep your mouth shut."

"You look like a pig's ass either way," she retorted back.

He scoffed at her and turned his attention back to Ubbe, who was shifting uncomfortably in his place. Lhyrie could feel the wheels in his mind turning, trying to reason out one-against-three without a sword or axe. His fingers were twitching slightly at his side, plotting.

"I should kill you," the fore-man said to Ubbe, raising his sword again at him. "But we should have a go at her before that happens."

He motioned to the man holding Lhyrie and he flicked her tunic up to expose her bare back. She struggled against his grip and tried to elbow him in the gut. His loose hand pulled at the strings of his pants and Ubbe stood frozen with two swords on him. The man behind her laughed as he fumbled with his strings, too eager for his own good. He seemed to get aggravated, unable to free himself and let his grip on her slacken. Lhyrie was able to peel herself away enough to swing her arm back at him and collide with his own hand, as her other elbow rammed into his gut, sending him with a groan a few steps back.

The two other men stepped toward them, trying to help their hurt friend. Ubbe, unwatched, stepped behind one of the men and punched him hard on the head. The man buckled onto his knees and the leader of the group turned to look at him instead of Lhyrie and the fat man struggling. Uncertain of who to go to, the hesitation allowed Ubbe to kick the sword out of the hand of the man on the grass. In a single movement, Ubbe picked up the sword and sliced the throat of the kneeling man, from ear to ear.

The fat man who held Lhyrie regained his composure after the blow to his privates and charged at her, swinging his arms, trying to grab her neck. She dashed out of his path and stuck her foot out, tripping the man into the water. He flopped his arms frantically and struggled against the water, as if the mythical eels were dragging him down – he couldn't swim. Lhyrie turned her attention to Ubbe and the other man, ignoring the waterborne struggles of her captor. Blood was pooled on the grass in front of the fallen man and leader looked like a raging bull at Ubbe.

They were circling each other, like sharks waiting to attack, swords drawn at each other but not engaging. Lhyrie stood on the outskirts, nervously wringing her hands. Ubbe looked awkward with a sword – he preferred an axe; it was weighted better. But his blue eyes burned red like the blood on the grass staining his bare feet. He lunged first, jabbing his sword to the side of his opponent but the man blocked it and swung off his blow. He jabbed back at Ubbe, sending him backwards to dodge the attack and he nearly tripped over the man dead on the grass. Lhyrie gasped, watching him struggle with his balance. Ubbe regained his footing and swung at the man, nicking his sword arm. The man grimaced in pain but fought on, clanging his sword against Ubbe's.

Lhyrie wondered if the fat man had a sword, she couldn't remember seeing or feeling one on his waist. Nevertheless, he was floating face down in the center of the lake now, his sword most likely sunk to the bottomless pit. The only thing Lhyrie could do was potentially trip Ubbe's opponent, like she did the other man, but risked both his sword and Ubbe's. She moved out of the way as they danced toward her.

Their swords met, metal on metal, and clashed with vigor. Lhyrie could see the lone man weaken under the cut to his sword arm. His blows were weaker and slower than before and he struggled to keep up with Ubbe's. He was cursing under his breath, or praying to Odin or Thor, Lhyrie couldn't quite hear which. Ubbe crouched low to miss a high swing of the man's sword and slashed at his legs. He drew blood and the man fumbled and cursed loudly. Ubbe lunged to the man's side and sliced at his legs again, this time slashing behind his ankles. He collided with one ankle, deep enough that Lhyrie could see the tendons snap between the blood pouring out. The man dropped hard on the ground, face first. He struggled to raise up between his bleeding arm and ankle and Ubbe walked slowly behind him and stepped on his back, making his rival groan in agony.

He knelt and whispered something Lhyrie couldn't hear into the man's ear before stepping off him and flipping him over to face the sky. He groaned hard as Ubbe stepped on his belly again.

"Say it," he warned, pressing harder.

"Vikings don't apologize," the man sneered at Ubbe.

Ubbe took his sword wide above his head, and thrusted it down at the man's neck. But he didn't force it through. Barely nicking the skin, he sliced a small portion of the man's neck, just below his Adam's apple, enough to bleed plenty, causing him to choke on his own blood. Ubbe stepped off the man, leaving him to drown slowly in his blood, before wiping the sword on the grass to rid it of the redness. He grabbed the dying man's sword, as well, before taking Lhyrie's shaking hand in his. He was out of breath with death fresh in his eyes.

"Let's go," he said, leading her back in the direction of the cabin, away from the three dead men. "We will leave them 'til morning."

"What if bears come?" She asked, looking back at the carnage.

"I don't have enough wood to burn them, nor the strength to dig their graves."

"Then throw them in the lake," she proposed, stopping in her tracks. The last thing they needed was a bear attacking.

He sighed and turned to look at her. "That would ruin your perfect pool," he told her.

"I couldn't swim in it anyway."

He forced a sword into her hands and then turned back toward the lake. He dragged the man he had killed first into the lake, and then the other man. He wasn't quite dead yet, Lhyrie saw, as he was spitting up on his blood as Ubbe shoved him into his watery grave. While he was down there, he filled the bucket they had left behind and made his way back up the hill to Lhyrie. That was the reason she had gone to the lake in the first place, what seemed like days ago. He wiped his brow and smeared blood on his face.

On the top of the hill they came across a thin horse pulling a cart, presumably the men's they had just killed. Inside was silver, swords and a few crops – their plunder. The horse looked sickly and barely made it up the hill back to the cabin, where Ubbe tied it to a post for the night and gave it water. Thankfully, the cart also had ale, which they drank happily to try and forget the sobering events of the day. Ubbe skinned the rabbit he had caught earlier and Lhyrie chopped the few carrots from the cart. Their dinner, despite the first food they had for more than a day, tasted poor in their mouths and they turned to a dinner of ale for the second night in a row. Lhyrie slept in her clothes that night, under the reassuring arms of Ubbe.


	8. Chapter 8

Lhyrie woke to the sound of a vicious hack and merciless animal wail. She jolted awake from her restless sleep, primed and ready to defend or attack. She grabbed the sword that laid next to her pillow. Either way, she was on edge. She heard another whack and the sound of blade cutting through flesh. Ubbe grunted and sighed from outside the cabin and she heard another thump, and another. Lhyrie sat up and ran outside, her mind racing in the possibilities from what happened yesterday.

Ubbe was hunched over the horse they had commandeered, blood spattered on his clothes. He was heaving heavily out of breath as the horse laid still and decapitated at his feet. The door slammed behind her and he jolted up to look at her. She wasn't sure if there were tears or blood in his eyes, or both.

"He wouldn't have made it to Kattegat," he said between breaths, wiping his hands on his tunic in absolution. Lhyrie felt the tug of a defenseless animal pull at her heart and she felt sadness fall over her. She noticed a bowl underneath the head of the poor animal, collecting its blood.

"Did you make a sacrifice?" She asked, trying to justify the killing.

"To Thor," he said, picking up the blood-filled bowl. He walked over to her and moved a piece of hair from her face. Dipping a finger into the almost black blood, he drew a line across her forehead. It was warm and sticky and made Lhyrie nauseous. Not wanting to offend him, she placed her hand in the bowl, feeling the thick sanguineous fluid stick to her. She ran her fingers from his forehead to his lips in blessing. She felt dizzy and quickly wiped her hand on his already bloody tunic. "Are you well, minn iss?"

She felt the world spinning around her and stumbled back against the cabin trying to stabilize herself. "Yes. I think I had too much ale last night," she told him.

"Sit." He moved her to sit on the table a few feet away. "You need your strength for the walk back to Kattegat. It will be warm today," he said, rubbing her hands together. They were cold, as they always were. Minn iss. My icicle. "Don't make me sacrifice you like the horse," he joked. She didn't laugh and he cleared his throat awkwardly. "You look as pale as snow."

Sitting didn't help the world spinning, so she ducked her head in her lap and closed her eyes. She tried to take slow deep breaths, but the smell of fresh blood lingered in her nose. Noticing a bucket of water near the dead horse, she drunkenly made her way over to it to splash water on her face and remove the blood on her forehead. She whispered apologies to Thor and plopped herself on the ground by the bucket, ignoring the horse next to her. The water was cool and felt refreshing under the sudden ill warmth pooling in the back of her neck and forehead.

"The scent of blood is making me uneasy," she told him, feeling like she needed to vomit.

"You have seen death before," he said, in neither a question nor statement.

Yes, she had seen death. Countless men, women and children dying either in her arms or near them. Yes, she has killed. She had not, however, been violated or raped like she was about to be yesterday. And she should consider herself lucky for that, as most women had been by her age. But she felt sick with skepticism and uncertainty for her wellbeing. Trust was something she had lost yesterday.

Ubbe came over and knelt beside her. He placed his hand on her back and rubbed it sweetly. Dipping his hands in the bucket, he washed his face as well, ridding it of the sacrificial blood. "If Thor takes offence, he will strike us down together."

She gave a weak smile toward him and leaned on his shoulder. "I think I hear thunder," she told him. He planted a kiss on the top of her head and pulled her close in comfort.

The trek back to Kattegat was silent and morose. Lhyrie couldn't help but stare at the small lake as they passed. Thankfully, the three bodies had sunk and their bloated figures hidden beneath its surface. Lhyrie's dizziness and nausea lessened as they passed, but her uneasiness remained. They had left the cart the men had abandoned at the cabin and strapped the assorted swords, crops and grains in a makeshift cloth backpack between them. It was heavy and, to the protestation of Ubbe, Lhyrie demanded to carry it for some time.

Kattegat was bustling in the warm summer heat and was nearly bursting out the gates with vendors and buyers, going about their daily business. Guards posted at the entrance stirred and gripped their shields and spears tighter as Ubbe passed, arm and arm with Lhyrie. They didn't stop him, but the hesitation showed on their faces. She wasn't quite sure how she would've acted if the guards stopped him from entering; she was surprised he even came to Kattegat with her, instead of breaking off to go to Ragnar's farmhouse. He could still sense her insecurity, she thought.

Standing just inside the gates, half-propped on a stall trying to look as though he wasn't spying on the gates but looking at cloth, was Sigurd. His eyes lit up when he saw them and rushed over. He looked as though he could burn a hole right through his oldest brother with his concerned expression.

"Where in Hel's name you been?" He asked forcefully.

"We were caught up," Ubbe answered, walking past his brother and dodging the people in the street.

"Caught between her legs?"

"I am right here, Sigurd," Lhyrie peered around Ubbe to stare at him. She must have given him a look, because he instantly buried his head with apology. Unhooking her arm from Ubbe's, she felt the slight embarrassment creep back into her mind over sleeping with him and tried to avoid the stir and looks from people as they overheard Sigurd and their conversation.

"The thunderstorm a few nights ago pushed us to stay at the hunting cabin," Ubbe explained to his brother. "And yesterday we were attacked and couldn't leave. So… here we are."

"You went to Kattegat to sell a horse and never came back." Sigurd chopped his hands down with purpose, signifying his point. "I thought Lagertha had you killed," he hissed, lowering his voice.

"Well… I am alive," he stated simply.

"Yes, I see that," Sigurd said tartly which made Lhyrie laugh.

Ubbe led them through the streets and past the Great Hall. Each of them looked long-fully at the turquoise and black shields and banners hanging off the rafters as they passed. Torvi and one of her sons were in the courtyard. She was watching as he played with other boys his age, wooden swords and shields clashing together with victorious yells. Ubbe grabbed Lhyrie's hand as they walked past Torvi, making sure she saw and stared cold at her. Lhyrie pressed her lips together and avoided looking at her; she didn't like being used as a social hall pass. Torvi swiftly ran back into the Great Hall and two more shield-maidens appeared at the door, alerted to Ubbe and Sigurd's presence deep into Kattegat.

"Have you been here the last few days, Sigurd?" Lhyrie asked him.

"I came yesterday."

"Where have you been staying?"

"Agnes'."

Ubbe gave a half-hearted laugh. "Who is Agnes?" Lhyrie asked, unaware of anyone of that name or why it might be funny.

"She is a whore," Ubbe said for his brother and slapped him on his back, still grinning. "Then you cannot rectify us," he said to Sigurd, who waved off his brother.

Lhyrie gave an inaudible Ah as they arrived at her uncle's house. "If you two are coming to Kattegat, you should just stay here," she told them, entering the quiet house. "Lagertha said you can stay in Kattegat. You do not need to live on the outskirts."

"I don't think Lagertha would want us this close," Ubbe said.

"And it's not but an hour on boat," Sigurd added.

"You came by boat?" His brother asked quickly. Sigurd nodded and stepped through the threshold. "We can stay the night, but must return. You saw how the guards acted," he told Lhyrie.

"Yes, but it would be more convenient for everyone," Lhyrie tried to explain, "You don't have to travel too far, I don't have to live alone until my father and uncle return, and Lagertha would know you weren't trying to gather an army to usurp her if you're under her nose." She crossed her arms in front of her and gave a sigh.

Ubbe tossed the makeshift backpack on the table with a loud thump. "She is right, Ubbe," Sigurd said.

"Shut up," he groaned. "I don't think it would be wise."

"Ubbe -," Lhyrie pleaded.

"What if Lagertha wanted us killed?" He asked her. "It would be too easy. We will stay tonight – that is all."

She tried not to pout like she wanted to. She hated staying in this house all alone and had been enjoying the company of Ubbe the past couple of days – and not just his physical company. The noise of conversation and laughter had lifted her spirits and she was selfish enough to not want that to end. Sure, she had Sigvi, though she was busy with her son and her husband and performing the duties a married woman was required to do. Lhyrie had spent a few hours a day with her, as she helped weave cloth and chatted and gossiped as they worked. But it didn't compare to having the company through meals or with waking.

She was also selfish enough to want to have Ubbe closer, to figure out what the past few days were. To stay in the past and move on, or move forward? She feared if they had their distance he would run to Margrethe, without having to compete for her with Jagar, and Lhyrie definitely didn't want that to happen after the last few days.

"What do you have to eat?" Sigurd said, interrupting her thoughts. "If we are to stay here tonight…"

"You can go to Agnes'," Ubbe teased. He began to light the hearth in the middle of the room, making himself at home, despite his words.

"I can make bread," she said, shifting through a sack of oats on a counter.

"She makes good bread," Ubbe told Sigurd.

"Yes, you ate nearly all of it," she said over her shoulder at him.

Sigurd raised his eyebrows and took a seat next to his brother by the fire. He instantly began twiddling his thumbs and rocking on the bench he sat on with Ubbe. "What?" He asked his brother after Ubbe lightly punched him in the arm.

"Stop fidgeting."

"I don't know what to do."

"You can go get water," Lhyrie told him. Reaching for a bucket a few feet down from her, she began kneading the oats with one hand and blindly held the bucket out for Sigurd.

He shot a look at Ubbe, who raised his hand in affirmation to do as she said. Sighing deeply, he grabbed the bucket from her hand and slammed the door on his way out. "I didn't come here for chores," he mumbled.

Lhyrie laughed under her breath and grabbed another handful of the coarse oats and began to press them under her palm. Ubbe kicked up his feet onto the hearth, the fire licking the bottom of his boots and looked toward her.

"Don't you want to change?" He asked her.

Stopping frankly, she looked at him and raised her eyebrows. "Am I not dressed well enough, my lord?" She tried to say without a smile.

"You're dirty from the walk."

"As are you."

Ubbe quickly jumped up from his seat and shook out his legs. "Yes," he said, coming to her side and putting his hands on her waist. "And Sigurd is gone," he whispered in her ear.

"The well is just a street over," she said, resuming to press the oats under her fingers, trying to ignore Ubbe pressing his lips behind her ear and hands creeping lower.

"So?" He muffled in her hair.

"So… no." He gave a warm heavy sigh that made her hair flick up and kissed her cheek before walking back over to the fire and sitting down. He sat down uncomfortably and twiddled his thumbs as Sigurd had done. "Do I have to put you to work too?"

"I am content right here," he smirked.

"That is what I thought."

Sigurd returned a mere minutes later, in what would have been an awkward situation, carrying the bucket filled with cold water. "I am glad you are no longer fighting," he said over their dinner of bread and broth.

"We weren't fighting," Ubbe said, taking a bite of bread.

"Were we not at the same dinner with your mother?" Lhyrie asked him.

"Or the feast," Sigurd added.

"That was…" he dragged on, waving a piece of bread around trying to find words, "That was misunderstanding. And I told you I was sorry for that," he pointed at Lhyrie.

"I don't think you actually apologized," she said, sipping her broth.

"Doesn't saving your life count?"

She scoffed and cleared her throat. "I could've handled that situation," she said flatly. "And no, it doesn't."

"You were naked."

"I could kill you just as easily."

Sigurd sat silently and sipped his broth, watching Ubbe and Lhyrie from across the table, trying to avoid the conversation he brought up. Ubbe bit his lip and cleared his throat. He hesitated before saying softly and slowly, "I'm sorry. I don't doubt you."

"Good."

The rest of the night passed quickly and with laughter after the small bump of uncomfortable conversation. Lhyrie felt like she was transported back a few years ago, when they were children: laughing, joking and playing. She leaned comfortably on Ubbe's shoulder and basked in the fire's glow and Sigurd's silly stories. As yawns formed on their lips, Sigurd rose and made for a spot on the hardwood floor.

"Sigurd there is an extra bed," Lhyrie told him, rising herself.

"Ubbe farts in his sleep," he jibed at his brother.

"I won't be sleeping with you, brother," he answered, stretching and putting his arm around her.

Owls hooted outside and Lhyrie woke with fingers stroking her arm. Ubbe was curled behind her, one arm under her pillow and her head, the other draped over her and tickling her arms folded in front of her. She could feel his breath on her neck as his touch lightened so that he was barely touching her, but continued to move in small strokes up and down her arm. Her breathing slowed and he moved to her shoulder and back. He grazed over the thin shift she was wearing, his fingers musing slowly and carefully. She felt him move his lower arm and prop himself up on his elbow.

"Are you awake?" He whispered.

"Not fully," she whispered back. Her eyes were closed, enjoying his touch.

Further down her back he grazed, tickling her softly. His fingers passed over her hip and she felt a chill run through her and her breathing began to quicken. She wasn't sure if it was due to ecstasy or… But as his hands ran to her bare thigh and up her shift, her hand was on the dagger a few feet from her pillow.

"Lhyr -," he gulped as the knife was at his throat.

Realizing what she had done, Lhyrie's grip loosened and let the knife fall onto the soft down furs. Her heart beat was her ears and she hear it pounding like thunder. The world seemed lopsided and she couldn't see straight in the dark house as it spun around her. She could see Ubbe in front of her, terrified and wide-eyed, with the knife by his hair.

She could see Ubbe, but she could feel the man from yesterday. She could feel his dirty fingers under her shift and his sweaty stomach on her back. She could feel his hot, fishy breath on her neck. Shaking her head, trying to erase his image from her mind, she scrubbed at her arms, trying to expunge his touch from her. She pushed herself a few feet from Ubbe, still staring at disbelief at her, wishing not to hurt him again. He wasn't that man, she told herself as she curled herself into a ball, tucking her knees to her chest, still rubbing them vigorously. She tried to cover herself more than the bare shift she was wearing, hoping that would help, but the shift barely covered her knees and the blanket too far to reach, as that would leave her vulnerable.

Ubbe sat himself up and leaned toward her. "Stop!" She tried to yell quietly, as Sigurd was still sleeping across the room. She was shaking now, but she wasn't cold. Her eyes darted around the tiny room looking for any other danger there could be, but it only made it spin more around her. Of course, there wasn't any other threat. It was all in her head; it was all in the past. But the touch lingered. It haunted her and she wanted it gone.

"Lhyrie -,"

"Please, stop. Stay away," she pleaded, holding out her hand hoping that would stop him from coming near her. Hot tears sobbed in her eyes and she buried her head in her shaking knees. She heard a heavy thud and scrap of metal on wood as Ubbe threw the dagger away from them. It landed on the other side of the room, near the sleeping figure of Sigurd, who was either an extremely heavy sleeper or politely ignoring the ruckus.

"It's gone. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," she sobbed. She hated crying. It burned her eyes and cheeks and made her breath ragged and labored. She tried to calm her breathing, slow it down with large gulps and long exhales, but a sob caught her in the back of the throat and made her choke a painful cry.

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

She looked up at him slowly. He wasn't that man. He was Ubbe: tall and thin Ubbe, his braid un-kept from sleep and short sides peaking in all directions, blue eyes shining in the low light with worry. He was still an arms-length away, perched on the balls of his feet, ready to rush over and scoop her close. Closing her eyes, she felt the warm rush of fresh tears pour over her and she let them fall. "No."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

"I know."

He bit his lip and grabbed hold of the fur blanket that was balled next to him. Just out of reach, he held it out to her. She tried to suppress another uncontrollable sob as she took it from him. As her fingers closed around the fur, he quickly slid the few feet to her and wrapped her with the blanket. She didn't try to fight or argue this time. The fur between them comforted her, but she felt shameful that he needed to comfort her over something so little as the anxiety of an event that didn't even occur. She hated feeling weak and even more so letting someone, especially Ubbe, see.

He began rubbing her arms like she had done, scrapping the touch of the man away and Lhyrie could feel him begin to fade slowly. Her breath began to slow, matching his deep inhales and exhales that swayed with the rhythm of his touch. The tears faded beneath her eyes and the salt stuck in the back of her throat, she could taste it with every breath. She felt more relaxed, but not fully. She leaned a little on Ubbe's shoulder and he pulled her closer. She wasn't sure how long they stayed like that or whether they slept. She just remembered the beat of his chest against her ear telling her she was safe, they were alive, and she was loved.


	9. Chapter 9

Lagertha's transition into power went smoothly, for the most part. The citizens of Kattegat seemed to barely notice a change in regime, just the change in colors flying over the city, from blood red to sky blue. More people seemed to even enjoy the change, from a forgone leader to one actually sitting in the throne of the Great Hall as more farmers traded their plows for swords and more women trained with her shield-maidens to fight in her wars. The Great Hall was filled almost nightly with laughter and warmth, as she let them flock into her new home, trying to gain their trust. As Ubbe spent more and more time in Kattegat and with her, Lhyrie felt disinclined to go to such gatherings since Ubbe would only go for announcements and not for socializing.

It seemed like most nights Ubbe spent with her when he wasn't out hunting. And he hated seeing the people flock to Lagertha almost as much as he hated seeing Lagertha sitting in his father's throne. He couldn't understand why people would gather to someone who usurped a throne after leaving it in the first place. And neither could she. But Lhyrie had friends, and enjoyed the gatherings, almost as much as she enjoyed her nights with Ubbe and wished to join their parties.

Somehow, Lagertha had continued to convince her to treat her injured shield-maidens and warriors and Lhyrie accepted. She could get inside the Great Hall and personally see to Lagertha and any plans she was brewing. She thought Ubbe would be pleased by that, trying to spy on Lagertha, but he wasn't.

"And if she finds out?"

"She's not naïve, Ubbe. She knows."

"The more reason not to," he said one night.

"Don't you want to know what she's up to?"

"Yes, but not on your life."

"She wouldn't kill me, Ubbe."

"I am not so certain."

"You are not certain of anything," she jabbed playfully. "And you are too cautious."

"And you are far not for a woman without a husband or father home."

She stuck out her tongue at him and curled back onto his bare chest. "I'll be just fine," she told him.

They heard a roar of laughter come from the Great Hall and Ubbe pulled her closer into his chest. He gave a heavy sigh before drifting off to sleep.

The next day, drunken bodies were scattered on the wood beams of the Hall, exhausted from the ambitious night of ale and mirth and Lhyrie had to dodge them as she made her way into it. A family stood on the far side of the Hall, waiting for her. She had helped the boy before, unhooking a rather intricate hook from the underside of his foot, and it seemed like he was in more trouble as he was grabbing at the front of his trousers nervously. The father, too seemed fidgety standing behind him, rustling his hair every so often.

"Now, Throun, what did you get into today?" She asked him, crouching low to speak with him.

"I hooked myself again, lady," he said sheepishly, avoiding her eyes. His father lightly knocked him in the head.

"Where this time?" He looked down between his legs and cleared his throat. His father did the same. "I see."

"I unhooked him, lady. But I'm afraid he'll fever. Do you have a potion for that?" The father asked.

"I have a medicine, yes," she corrected, careful not to be labeled a sorceress. She rummaged through her bag, looking for her balm of yarrow pedals. Placing it dab into a glass, she handed it to the father. "Place this on the wound every night. Be liberal and it will stop a fever."

A few hours later she had three chickens, a bucket of goat's milk, two men's height of rope and a fox pellet as payment for her services. Her brow was flushed and she was warm from a hard day's work. Although the days were growing shorter and the air brisker, all she could think about was a swim in the fjord. Perhaps she was finally accustomed to the Viking weather, as winter would soon be in Kattegat.

"It seems like the people trust you," a soft voice said behind her. She turned to face the black hair of Astrid, who was smiling wide at her. "They give you valuable things."

"A healer is a valuable thing," Lagertha said, coming out of a curtain behind Astrid.

"Yes, my lady," Lhyrie and Astrid said together. They looked awkwardly at one another as they spoke in turn, as if they didn't wish to share the same thoughts.

"Would you like some ale, Lhyrie?" Lagertha asked.

"It would be refreshing," she replied, taking a glass from Astrid.

"I didn't see you last night," Astrid said to her, sipping her glass of ale.

"I was tired," she gritted through her teeth, avoiding her glare.

"Ubbe Ragnarsson is in Kattegat, yes?" She asked coldly.

"I believe so." So, the interrogation begins, Lhyrie thought.

"He is fond of you, I hear," Lagertha joined in.

"Yes, my lady. We were close friends when we were young."

"And are you not now?" Astrid asked with a sly smile.

"We have both been through challenging times, losing our mothers," she tried to say without malice in her voice. "We have taken comfort in one another." Silence fell over Astrid and Lagertha, but the thin smile on Astrid's face remained. It was widely talked about in Kattegat that Ubbe was staying with Lhyrie most nights and their growing relationship was no secret.

"Yes, that is challenging," Lagertha finally said. "You were in Frankia for some time with your parents, if I remember correctly."

"You remember correctly, my lady. We spent almost three years there."

"Why did you return?" Astrid asked.

"We heard of Ragnar's return and wished to come back," she stated, starting to feel uncomfortable with their questions, but was grateful for the ale and people in the Hall to witness their conversation.

"You were with their army, correct?" Lagertha asked.

"A piece of it."

"Did you fight with them?"

"Mainly just healed their wounds, my lady," she said as she sipped her ale. "But I did train in my spare time."

"Did you learn anything of value?"

"They fight differently from Vikings. It supplemented my previous training."

"Shall we see what you learned?" Astrid asked, raising an eyebrow and walking the few yards to a shield propped up against the wall. Conceitedly, she placed a hand on the butt of the sword dangling from her hip. Lhyrie looked toward Lagertha, who smiled and nodded her head slightly.

"I don't have a shield," she began as Astrid threw her the one she had picked up and grabbed another off the wall. Lhyrie awkwardly grasped at it as she caught it and jammed her finger in the process, letting out a low groan. The few people in the hall quieted and moved out of the middle of the space to allow them their room. Lhyrie shifted the shield on her arm, getting used to the weight of the unfamiliar armor and gripped the hilt of her sword that hung unmercifully on her belt for the last few weeks. Astrid pulled her sword from its sheath, as Lhyrie took a deep breath and did the same to hers.

Astrid raised her sword high, striking her shield square on, though it simply rebounded as Lhyrie braced hard against the shield to absorb its blow. It blasted Astrid backward toward a pillar and she stumbled and nearly lost her balance. Noticeably angry, Astrid ran to meet her back in the middle of the hall and raised her sword again. Lhyrie huffed and twisted out of her path, knocking her with her shield as she ran past.

Astrid was glaring at her like a wolf attacking its prey and Lhyrie thought she was going to growl. She began to sidestep to match her cadence and they shuffled in a circle in the quiet Hall. "To first blood?" Lhyrie asked to no one particularly. "Or surrender?"

"First blood," she heard someone call. She thought it was Lagertha, but the blood pounding in her ears muffled her hearing.

She tried to think of what she heard about Astrid and her fighting. She was better at hand-to-hand combat rather than with a sword. Lagertha trained her personally, she heard, and Lagertha was an exceptional shield-maiden. Lhyrie hated hand-to-hand and always favored her sword and shield. With Astrid holding a vendetta against her for some reason, she couldn't risk losing her weapon or shield as Astrid might draw more than blood from her.

She drew a deep breath and lunged at Astrid, striking off to her side instead of at her shield. Blocking it with her heavy shield, Astrid swung her sword toward Lhyrie who stopped it with her own. Astrid charged at her again, eyes raging in the dimly lit Hall, determined and aggravated that Lhyrie wasn't folding. She slashed again at her, and Lhyrie clashed their swords together and struggled against her to unhook them.

Astrid huffed and pulled against her, unhooking their swords and swinging it back at Lhyrie's shield. She blocked and twisted away from her so that she was at her back. Astrid wasn't quick enough. She lost her footing as Lhyrie twisted away from her and struggled to turn to face her. Seizing the opportunity, Lhyrie gently sliced the top of Astrid's arm as she moved to face her, the bare skin peeking out between her tunic and vest. Grimacing, she called out as blood pooled slowly on the thin cut and dropped her sword to grip her shoulder.

Lhyrie tried to slow her ragged breathing and calm the blood pounding in her ears after the fight. Sheathing her sword at her hip, she slowly walked over to the edge of the Hall and placed the shield back in its spot. She gave a small smile, trying not to patronize Astrid's meaningful attempt toward Lagertha, who was smiling back at her, unconcerned with her bleeding shield-maiden. Whispers resumed in the Hall as the patrons returned to the work they were doing previously and turned away from Lhyrie and the two women in the center of the Hall. Lhyrie grabbed the satchel she was dropped and pulled out a piece of cloth before going over toward Astrid to help her.

Crouching down to meet her, Lhyrie lightly placed her hand on Astrid's back as she was curled down clutching her arm. "It's not deep, but let me cover it."

"No, it's fine," she replied and shook off her help, standing and still gripping her shoulder.

"Please, I wouldn't want it to fester."

"You said it wasn't deep."

"Even the smallest things can cause trouble," Lhyrie explained as Astrid lowered her arm. She covered it quickly with the gauze and tied it in a tight knot over the cut. Astrid grimaced in pain. "Sorry," she genuinely apologized, both for the knot and the cut.

Lagertha and now Torvi joined them in the middle of the Hall. "That was impressive," Lagertha said, smiling. "I trained Astrid myself and few could beat her. It seems Frankia has taught you something."

"Or just luck, my lady."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," she said. Astrid looked coldly at Lagertha, somewhat taken aback. She was her right-hand man and lover. Lagertha should have more confidence in her than that, Lhyrie thought. Perhaps the strain of usurping a kingdom had taken their toll in her inner circle. There was a weakness, she saw. "Your talents are wasted as a healer," Lagertha continued. "It would be an honor to have you on my guard and as a warrior."

Lhyrie pressed her lips together and thought for a moment. How could Lagertha ask that and not think of her safety? She had just enough motive as Ubbe for wanting her dead and that could be easily accomplished if she was in charge of Lagertha's safety and on her guard. Nevertheless, she thought about it. Ubbe would be furious; he would call her brash again. He would see her as a traitor, even though she hated her just as much as he did.

But women must be sly, must be cunning with revenge. It is not black and white or as violent as men could be. It had to be carefully thought out and executed, and could be done this way effortlessly. Of course, Astrid would most definitely keep her from forming any intimate connection to Lagertha or her security, she was certain of that. Astrid looked on her with disappointment and near hatred.

"I hope you won't be offended if I take time to think over this decision," she asked hesitantly.

"It is a big decision to make," Lagertha answered.

Astrid took Lagertha by the arm, pulling her and Torvi away from her. They had their backs to her and spoke in hushed whispers. Lhyrie took her time and looked around the Hall. Lagertha had changed it slightly and she never had the time to fully look at the changes while she was working. The throne was new. It was carved in the shape of an eagle, with its wings spread out behind the chair.

"Do you want to do this?" Astrid hastily asked, darting her eyes toward Lhyrie.

"I have made my decision," she heard Lagertha counter.

"She is in bed with Ubbe. He could have her kill you."

Lhyrie gave a faint smile as she heard that. She was fully capable of killing Lagertha without persuasion from Ubbe, but she let them have their innocence. A horn echoed from far away, it sounded as though it came from the docks and the three women perked their ears toward its sound. A runner came rushing through the doors of the Hall and many women shrieked in surprise as he did, out of breath and collapsing on the floor. Lhyrie felt her face tighten with tension and confusion. Have the boats returned from England?

If they had, she didn't want to contemplate it. She was uneasy with the thought of Jagar returning, unsure of what she would do; who she would choose; just like her decision on Lagertha's proposal. Her life with Ubbe was falling seamlessly in place and was comfortable. She could picture it until she was old and grey. Jagar had been away for so long she could hardly picture him or hear his voice. What if he returned changed from his raid? Would she still want him as she had when he went away and first met him?

As the runner regained his breath he spoke in rough sentences. "A boat… my lady… Not… Viking…"

"How many?" Lagertha asked quickly. Metal on metal echoed around the Hall as the people drew out their swords and shields. Lhyrie gripped her sword on her hip, ready to unsheathe it.

"Just one…" he puffed.

One. So, it wasn't the raid returning, Lhyrie breathed thankfully. One more day to not think about Jagar. But she couldn't think on who it was. Many foreign traders came to port at Kattegat without raising alarm, so this must be different. Then again, an attack from a foreign land could not be accomplished with one boat, but why be guarded.

"England…"

She felt the weight of her stomach drop. The only reason a boat would return from England and not be Viking were that the boats were lost. And the city wouldn't be in alarm if Vikings were in the boat, so they must be Englishmen. The leather on the hilt of her sword creaked under the pressure of palm. Lagertha nodded toward the shield-maidens around her hall and they left with haste toward the docks.

"Who is in the boats?" She asked calmly toward the messenger.

"We believe… it is Ivar," he wheezed.

"That is all?"

"The rest… are Englishmen."

She didn't know why, but a heaviness lingered in her heart and pulled at it. The grip on her sword lessened as Astrid's tightened on hers. She was whispering in Lagertha's ear again, but this time she couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Thank you," Lagertha told the runner. She turned to look at her. "Is Ubbe at your residence?" She asked.

"He may be, my lady. There or the smith."

Lagertha looked back at the runner. "Go there and inform him of his brother." The runner huffed and turned toward the courtyard. He sauntered for a moment before breaking into a run toward her uncle's house. She wasn't sure how he knew where she was living, but apparently, it was no secret. "Grab my cloak, we will go to the docks," she told Torvi.

Lhyrie couldn't bring her feet to move to join them as they left the Hall. Her legs felt like bricks laid into the flooring, although her heart felt drawn to the docks to be with Ubbe. One other person remained in the Hall with her, seemingly just as frozen, but she recognized her.

"Margrethe?"

"It is good to see you, Lhyrie," she said softly, almost in a question. She was looking down, not at her and seemed nervous.

Lhyrie walked over to her in the far corner in the Hall, her footsteps, unfrozen, echoed in its emptiness. She looked thinner, but well-off, for a slave, Lhyrie reminded herself. She was still pretty as ever, amid weathered clothing and scrapes.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Lhyrie smiled at her.

"I have been in Hedeby," Margrethe answered, still avoiding her eyes. "I've only come to bring Lagertha her things. I will travel back tonight."

She felt her smile freeze slightly on her face. Just as she had Jagar, if he returned, Ubbe had Margrethe. And now that she was in Kattegat, Lhyrie wasn't certain who he would choose now that she was face-to-face with her.

"Have you seen Ubbe?" She asked carefully, sweetly.

"No, but he is staying with you?" Margrethe asked softly, almost childlike and looked up at her just as small looking.

"Yes… if Ivar has returned, he will be with his brothers."

"He told me a great many things about you," she said, pressing her lips together and avoiding her gaze again. "He was right… you are as smart as you are beautiful. It is good to see you happy, unlike when you first arrived in Kattegat."

"Many things have changed since then."

"Yes…" her voice trailed off. She began fidgeting with a string on her dress and tension cut between them. Lhyrie didn't want to be harsh and she was trying not to be, but the air thinned somewhat in the Hall. "Is he happy?"

"I think so."

"That is all I want… I will be leaving Kattegat soon."

"Why don't you stay? Lagertha should need you here."

"With Ivar back, I wouldn't wish to stay." Lhyrie nodded in recognition and felt relieved that she wouldn't remain in Kattegat. "You are a healer?"

"Yes… do you need something?"

"I… I have a favor," she stuttered awkwardly, still diverting her gaze and picking at her dress. "I think I was with child," she whispered hesitantly.

"Do you think you are with child now?" Lhyrie asked, placing a hand on her shoulder and guiding her to sit down. Margrethe hardly resisted, as it felt like Lhyrie was guiding a cloud.

"I did not have my blood a moon ago… a clot as big as a prune passed a few days ago. Could that have been a child?" She looked up at Lhyrie with sadness in her eyes. Lhyrie felt her stomach drop again.

"If it was, it wasn't very old. Less than 2 moons, perhaps," Lhyrie began rubbing Margrethe's arms in comfort out of habit, despite feeling resentful toward her. Though her mind instantly flashed to Ubbe, Lhyrie realized it could not have been his. Lagertha took power almost three months ago and Margrethe hadn't been in Kattegat or with him since. She smiled to herself with this revelation and continued to comfort her.

"I have something called Black Hellebore, which I use to keep me from child, but it should remove any piece of pregnancy left behind." She dug through her satchel until she found a small stringed bag containing the leaves. It was her last handful until she went out into the fields again, and she cautiously handed it over to Margrethe. "Steep it into a tea and sip at night for a week. It might feel worse than death," or kill you, she thought, as she had seen some women use it for abortions and die from the process. They were further along in term, though and did not naturally miscarry. "But it will pass clots."

"Thank you," she whispered, taking the bag from Lhyrie's grip. "I don't know how to repay you…"

Stay in Hedeby flashed through her mind, but Lhyrie shook off the thought and smiled weakly at her. "There is no need," she answered simply.

"I should be off," Margrethe stated, rising from her seat, clutching the petals against her chest. "Thank you, again, lady." She gave a slight curtsey and Lhyrie tried to refrain from a giggle.

"Safe travels, Margrethe."

It seemed as though the whole town was at the docks, as the streets echoed as Lhyrie walked through them. She went for her uncle's home, but was not surprised when she found it empty besides a half-filled glass of ale on the table. She made for the docks as people began to linger back into their homes, whispers spoken quickly on their lips. "Ivar…" "England…" "Ragnar…" she heard snippets of, but couldn't form full sentences. People walking past scurried away from her before she would stop them to ask her questions.

At the docks, Lagertha's guards stood alert, their bows and arrows erect down the fjord. A single boat was sailing back, not of Viking design, clearly foreign unlike she had seen before. It was bulky and cut raggedly through the waves and the grey smoky clouds. Lagertha herself was nowhere to be seen, but Astrid still stood on the docks with her shield-maidens. She could not see Ubbe, Sigurd or Ivar anywhere on the beach, and their dingy wasn't hooked to a post. They must have gone back to their father's cabin.

All Lhyrie could think about were the answers she desperately needed. She needed to see Ivar, as she needed fresh water to live. Thoughts crowded her mind. How would she get there? She had no horse, no boat. Walking would take half a day she was sure of it. Astrid turned to leave as the boat was no longer in view down the fjord. She stopped as she saw Lhyrie on the beach.

"It was Ivar," she told Lhyrie as she passed. "The rest were killed, even Ragnar."

"How?" She stumbled for words.

"A king killed Ragnar. I am not certain of the rest." Astrid placed a hand on Lhyrie's shoulder and walked back into town. She was perplexed that Astrid would speak to her or show any form of compassion toward her after their rift in the Great Hall, but was glad she did, although her words were not what she wished to hear. They pushed her to find a way to them immediately.

Further down the beach, she saw Helga standing in her yard. Lhyrie rushed toward her, half running to see her, a lump forming in the pit of her stomach.

"Aunt Helga," she pleaded, out of breath. "May I borrow your boat?"

"Lhyrie… is that so wise?" She asked hesitantly, bringing her hand to Lhyrie's face. She looked long-fully at her with sad eyes, but all Lhyrie wanted was an answer.

"Please… I need to see what happened in England."

Helga gave the slightest nod to her and Lhyrie broke free of her touch, rushing toward the water's edge and her aunt's small boat. She could feel her heart beat in her ears and her fingers shook as she loosened the knots holding the boat to shore. Her whole body shook and she tried to calm it by pulling her cloak further around her and over her mouth. But she pushed on, floating the boat away from the shore and took the oars from their resting spot. She couldn't remember the last time she rowed, and quickly grew tired so she floated a fair distance along the beaches. Eventually, longer than an hour she knew that, she spotted the farmhouse on the fjord's edge and thanked the Gods she was on the correct side of the bank as she didn't think she had enough strength to row across it.

As she beached the small boat, Ubbe came out of the farmhouse toward her.

"Why did you come?" He asked swiftly.

"I heard the news. I needed to come."

He hurried to her and scooped her face in his palms. Softly at first he kissed her, then he grew more desperate and forceful. She tried to pull away but he kept at her, bruising her lips and pulling her close. Suddenly she had tripped into the boat with him on top of her and it creaked under their weight. Frantically, he pulled her dress away from them and pressed between her legs. She was shocked that the force didn't send the boat off the beach into fjord, but she couldn't laugh about it then. His attack continued until she was sore and aching, like he was taking whatever anger the news Ivar brought him into her. But the act didn't hurt her. She bit down on his shoulder to keep from moaning.

Breathless, he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. "I may have become an orphan," he said softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and curled his head into her chest where they stayed until nightfall.

When they moved to the farmhouse, Ubbe led her hand in hand to the fire and handed her a glass of ale. Ivar was sat on a stool, staring blankly into the flames. Lhyrie tried hard not to look so closely or lengthy at him. If Ubbe had as much anger in him, she didn't want to know how Ivar felt.

"You want to know," he stated unblinking at the fire. Lhyrie was too hesitant to answer, unsure if she did or not. "Thor drowned the boats. My father and I killed the others," he admitted.

"Why?" She asked through her teeth. She hadn't touched her ale and openly stared wide-eyed at Ivar. Ubbe was drinking in long sips and, like Ivar, stared hard into the fire.

"Because he told me to."

Lhyrie felt a rush of anger fall over her, and then sadness. She could see why Ubbe had been upset. He lost friends and his father. But either Thor or Ivar had killed both her uncle and Jagar. She hoped it was Thor, for she thought she might draw her sword at Ivar. For the last time today, her stomach dropped in her chest as she came about that she too was alone. She had no idea where her step-father was or if he was still alive with Bjorn and Hvitserk. Her only family in Kattegat was her aunt.

Her thoughts earlier in the day tugged at her at what she thought about Jagar: how she was relieved he wasn't home yet, but now he will never be home. She could picture now his smile and laugh but it came too late. How cruel the Gods were, to take everything from him; to take everything from everyone in Kattegat it seemed. She wanted to scream until her lungs bled red and warm, but she sat frozen in her seat, ragging internal, gripping the cup so hard she felt it would break beneath her.

"Does that satisfy you, Heiriksdóttir?"

Lhyrie took a sip of ale and joined their fascination in the flames.


	10. Chapter 10

She was out on the seas, the waves crashing around her and the wind howling and throwing her hair in tangles across her eyes. The boats were caught in a tempest so strong Thor was capsizing them himself; they were taking on floods of water like she could swim in the boats themselves as they struggled to remain afloat. The rain stung and bombarded her face and she could taste the salt water on her lips and feel it sticking to her arms. Men were yelling orders, but the words seemed to mix with the wind and fade out as quickly as they were saying them.

A man was shriveled in a corner, bowing his head and shivering. Lhyrie didn't recognize him. But she saw Ivar, tied against the mast, his eyes forced shut with all his might and fists clenched in fear. She could almost hear him whimper within the wind. Then suddenly, a great clap of thunder and lightning hit so close to the boat it sparked in the waves and the world grew silent. Thor pushed a towering wave at them and it lingered over the vessel for what seemed like eternity. The men, frozen in their places, gazed at it, mesmerized by the sheer force. And then it fell, the arctic surge crashing into the boat and ripping it into two halves. Ivar screamed, breaking the silence, helplessly tied to the post and struggled against the ropes.

She woke with her shift soaked through. She could still feel the ice water and salt clinging to her skin and feel the wind whip at her. Out of breath and freezing she sat up, pulled a fur closer around her and pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to press away the dream from her mind's eye. The night had been filled with terrors. Her dreams were occupied by a ragging tempest or a cage dangling over a leaf covered pit and no amount of praying to Nỏtt could halt her dreams. Ubbe stirred beside her and snores echoed in the small cabin. It must be hours until dawn as the room was a void of darkness.

"Come back to bed," he whispered and groped to feel her beside him, but came up with nothing. He opened his eyes and saw her sitting at the edge of the bed and placed his hand on the small of her back. "You're freezing."

"I had that same dream," she said. "The one with the storm. I can feel it in my bones." She had woken him earlier and briefly told him of the storm and ship breaking, but left out the detail of his brother helpless against the mast. She thought he was getting used to her sleepless nights, as he would wake when she did and calm her back to sleep.

"Anything change?"

"No… exactly the same." Lhyrie wondered if her dream was the shipwreck Ivar had told her about – how the ships were lost at sea. If so, she wondered if the cage had something to do with Jagar's death. She was too afraid to ask.

Ubbe sat and wrapped his arms around her and pressed his chest against her back. His body instantly warmed hers with the thought of the battered storm fading from her memory. He lightly kissed the base of her neck and she shivered, but not from cold and she melted into him. His beard gently scratched and tickled her as he planted kisses on her neck and allowed something other than nightmares to keep her awake.

"We have guards out front," Sigurd called, waking her as the waves crashed around her and swallowed her whole again. She jumped awake with the little hairs on her arm alert and shivering.

Ivar was already perched on a stool, fiddling with a knife and arrow, ignoring his brother who stood in the doorway with a pail of water. Ubbe groaned next to her and squinted one eye open. "Who?" He grunted.

"Lagertha's shield-maidens," spat Sigurd. He gripped the handles of the bucket so tight she thought he was going to drop it.

"Good…" Ivar sneered, "We can kill them."

"No. We will not," Ubbe mumbled in.

"But I want to kill them," Ivar told his brother. He peered over at them in the bed, looking out under his thick brow. Lhyrie thought she saw a darkness shadow his eyes like a veil, but it flashed away in an instant. She felt a chill coming from his glare and tightly pulled a fur around her thinly dressed body.

"They would only kill us," Ubbe propped up on his elbows and hissed at Ivar. "And I do not wish to die today," he reached for her hand and squeezed it hard. Her lips twitched up in a slight smile, but it suddenly faded when she looked back toward Ivar and his cold stare.

Ivar groaned and threw the knife he was playing with hard into the wood flooring so that it stood erect, imbedded in the grain. Sigurd finally moved from the doorway and let it slam behind him, just as Lhyrie saw a woman move past, a shield and sword drawn. Ubbe stood at the side of the bed and pulled a pair of trousers on as she thought on the strange situations that brothers are heir to. Covered under a blanket, she shuffled to find her dress and throw it over her shoulders while being modest, unlike Ubbe a few seconds before.

"Now it would help to have a shield-maiden on your side," she said softly, almost under her breath.

"Not now," Ubbe warned her.

"For what?" It was funny how innocent Ivar could seem sometimes, Lhyrie thought as he asked the simple question. He looked very much like a child then, pure and unsure, not the terror who mimics the monsters in bedtime stories. Ivar looked toward her and cocked his head, so much like Ubbe it made her uncomfortable. She gulped and hid her eyes from him.

"Lagertha asked me to be her shield-maiden," she said, just above a whisper.

"What?" Exclaimed Sigurd, who nearly knocked Ivar off his stool as he ran past and slammed his fists into the bedding a mere foot from her. Ubbe quickly jostled his brother away from the bed and away from any uncontrollable action might be brewing in mind. He held him with a hand on his chest and his palm behind his neck. Lhyrie didn't think he was displaying anger – the only anger Sigurd had in him was toward Ivar and Ragnar, not her. But the line between anger and excitement twisted in on itself and could turn to one or another in a blink of an eye.

Ivar picked up the knife he had thrown into the wood and began picking at it again. She could sense hatred in him – he clearly hated Lagertha and wanted no one associating with her, including Lhyrie. Just like Ubbe, he wouldn't be able to see past the veil of Lagertha, of mother-killer and usurper, to see how a position within her ranks would benefit them.

"Wouldn't that be better than healing?" Sigurd looked cock-eyed toward his brother holding him. He was excited for her, not angry.

"Not if she wanted to get killed," Ubbe shook his brother and let him go with a shove. "Lagertha would never place you anywhere near us. You would be on the docks – away from her and away from us," he said to her.

"Shield-maidens gossip," she pleaded, but could sense Ivar brooding in his seat and fought her words swiftly. She wouldn't win her argument with Ivar around. "Before I head back to Kattegat, I want to search for plants," she said in a somewhat question, unsure if Ubbe would even allow her to do that. Hopping out of the bed, she grabbed her sword and tied it around her waist. She crossed her arms and waited for a debate, but met none and swung her medical bag over her shoulder.

"We'll go with you," Ubbe said, ruffling Ivar's hair. "By the river?"

She nodded.

"You need a bath," he poked at Ivar, "We all do."

Sigurd and Ivar groaned and rolled their eyes. Ubbe fell naturally into the mothering role, as he did when Ragnar was away with the father role. Lhyrie smiled to herself, picturing Ubbe tucking them in at night and smoothing their curly hair.

"I'll meet you outside," she said, swinging the door open. She ran face into a guard who stepped into her path. Her head rung as she rubbed her forehead from the force of the shield that met her there and took a step back. The door had slammed shut behind her and the if the force of the blow hadn't forced her eyes shut, the morning sun blinding them helped.

"We can let her go," a voice said to her left.

"Where are you going?" Someone else asked.

"There's no need, Asif," another one said. How many guards were here? She wondered. She raised her hand to her brow to try and block the light and began to see the outlines of the women surrounding her. They half-circled her with their shields braced but one, who stood back and folded her arms.

"Lagertha said we only needed to guard Ragnar's sons, not their… whomever," she trailed off.

"I don't feel comfortable with that," the one Lhyrie ran into sneered at her. "Anyone who stays with them is dangerous."

"I will let Lagertha know you disapprove of her order – now let her go."

The woman stepped out of her path and scoffed. Lhyrie looked toward the woman in the back and nodded. "Thank you," she told her. She didn't feel threatened by them – she felt more intimidation from Ivar inside the cabin than the five women surrounding her now. "I'm going toward the woods," she said to them, taking a step forward. "To pick herbs and plants. Then I will be on my way back to Kattegat."

Lhyrie could hear the one guard mumble under her breath as she walked past them and toward the forests dark edge. She needed her Black Hellebore, especially after just giving Margrethe the last of her supply and her sleeping with Ubbe last night. Her pace quickened toward the forest as she remembered she needed to take it soon as she always did the morning after. She was certain it wasn't too far, as she had seen it that one day riding to the cabin a few months ago.

Ahead of her the leaves rustled and crunched. Lhyrie thought another guard might pop out behind the brush, but instead trotted out a fawn, out of season, fresh with spots. Winter was coming fast, the thin cloak Lhyrie had around her shoulders wouldn't last long as the days grew shorter. What was a fawn doing so close to winter? She thought as she stopped where she stood, careful not to startle the younger deer as it explored its surroundings. Its head was bowed low, smelling the earth, probably looking for water.

The cabin door creaked open yards behind her and the flutter of the shield-maiden's steps crunched in the mud. Lhyrie turned her head to look back at them as Ubbe walked out, exalted with the rushed greeting he received of swords and shields drawn. As she looked toward the fawn it was gone, but she could see the tiny footprints left in the damp earth where they sprinted off. She gave a deep sigh and moved forward, following the tracks until they disappeared into the leaves. She had hoped to see the mother, to see that the little fawn so out of season was safe, but came up short. The tracks had, however, led her right to the Black Hellebore, which she gathered gleefully and overfilled her satchel.

"Are you going to watch us bathe?" She heard Ubbe ask somewhere through the trees. She thought she could hear crickets in the silence that followed. "I take that as a yes," he boasted.

Lhyrie tried to suppress a laugh as he said that. She could picture him plain as day – leaning slightly back, his fingers spread open wide in front of him and his eyebrows cocked. She had seen him use that expression countless times. Bjorn and Ragnar had it too. Stuffing the Black Hellebore into her bag, she followed her path back to the farmhouse.

"They are going to watch our every move," Ubbe said to her as she joined the boys just outside the cabin door.

"Someone ought to," she smirked, reaching on her tiptoes to give him a small peck on the cheek. Ivar growled and slithered past them, toward the forest and the river. "I should get back to Kattegat," she told him as Sigurd brushed by. "Aunt Helga will have questions." She tried not to glare at Ivar. Helga deserved to hear the fate of her uncle and she was certain the word of Ragnar had already flooded the village. Clearing her throat, Lhyrie attempted to hide the resentment in her face.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" He asked rubbing her shoulders.

"I need to get back to Kattegat."

"Alright." He kissed her forehead before taking her hand. "I will come to Kattegat soon. After Ivar gets settled."

"Of course.

The row to Kattegat was better for Lhyrie than the trip to the farmhouse, as her arms were not tired from a fight and the tide was with her. She took her time, letting the current take her as she watched the water cut against the small boat and the fish swim carelessly under the surface.

But as she stared and the let her mind wander, an anger started to brew toward Ivar. Like her, she wondered if Ivar remembered every face he killed, for then he would know if he killed Jagar or her uncle. Her mind unwelcomely flashed to the dreams she had last night and tried to decode them. She was certain they were real, past events of what happened to the party in England, but she refused to muster up the courage and ask Ivar – perhaps Ubbe would do that for her. She hated him and even their shared vengeance toward Lagertha couldn't bring Lhyrie to sympathize toward him. She even felt her discontent toward Lagertha weaken as it switched to Ivar and the wish to see her dead faded.

Pulling onto the beach in front of Helga's house, she could already hear the gossip of Ragnar and the other raiding party's deaths. One woman was bold enough to come up to her directly and asked her, knowing her connection to Ubbe and therefore Ivar.

"I'm sorry, the Queen will surely know more," she lied to the poor woman. She didn't want to be the one to break the news but gulped and said, "I do know some boats were lost in a storm…"

"Thank you dear," the woman sniffled, squeezing Lhyrie's hands.

Aunt Helga stood in the doorway when she heard her voice and waited for her to walk the few feet into her home to talk privately. "Are the rumors true?" She asked over a cup of tea.

"Some boats floundered in a storm," she said with a sip. "Those who made it to shore were killed."

"During a raid?"

Lhyrie hesitated. Should she lie and say yes? People would assuredly want revenge for Ivar killing their loved ones, if they so dared and Helga wouldn't keep a secret for long.

"They were ambushed," she said finally. It wasn't a complete lie. They were ambushed – by Ivar and Ragnar.

"And they spared Ragnar and Ivar?" She asked quickly.

Again, she hesitated. "Yes. It sounds like Ragnar was bartered to another King who wanted him dead… Ivar didn't know much of the language."

"Do we know the fate of Drun or your friend?"

"No," she answered curtly. She was done with questions and her head started to ache.

The rumors only grew from there. The most popular was that Odin struck Ragnar down himself, angry that he didn't tell the people of Kattegat the English settlements had failed, and Odin's crows plucked out his eyes and tongue. Another was an earthquake split the Earth and swallowed the party that landed on the beach whole. Whatever calmed the people's fears, Lhyrie thought. It was better than the truth.

A few days later, Ubbe and his brothers came back to Kattegat. Lagertha was going to make an announcement. She had been away at Hedeby after Ivar returned with the news of Ragnar. Some people believed she had fled like Ragnar had, but Torvi and Astrid stayed behind, manning Kattegat in her absence.

"I think it may have to do with defenses," Lhyrie told him.

"Why's that?" Ubbe cocked his head to the side.

"I saw guards scouting the parameter of the city and the river and marking areas. It looks like the groundwork for palisades… and I heard a few shield-maidens talking. I told you they like to gossip."

"It's about time," he agreed with the defenses and ignoring her comment. He began to get dressed but she stayed covered with no intention of moving.

"Are you coming?" He asked as a horn blew from the Great Hall.

She shook her head slightly and rubbed her eyes. "If it was mandatory she would've said. And there's little room in the Hall anymore for these gatherings. She needs to fix that too. Kattegat has grown too large for that small Hall."

"I'll be back after."

"Are your brothers going?"

"Sigurd is. I do not know where Ivar went to. Probably far away from the water – he still gets quite seasick, despite his journey to England." She naturally pressed her lips together with mention of Ivar's name. A cold spot still haunted her from his actions and the few days hadn't calmed it – especially with everyone's talk about him and England. "I saw Margrethe earlier," he said casually, pulling on his tunic.

"Now that Lagertha has officially moved from Hedeby, I guess Margrethe came with her," Lhyrie added.

"She said she saw you a few days ago."

"It was the day Ivar returned… It was so frantic it slipped my mind." She propped herself up on her elbows and reached for a glass of water.

"She wanted to thank you for the herbs?" He raised his eyebrows with curiosity and waited for her answer.

She wavered slightly, uncertain if she should tell Ubbe why, or if Margrethe had already told him and he was just testing her. "I gave her something to help with afterbirth," she gulped.

"She was with child?" Ubbe stiffened with his eyes wide.

"She miscarried, yes."

"How – how old was the child?" He stuttered.

"I didn't see the child… but what she described couldn't be more than a few weeks."

"But you can't be sure," he fiercely retorted.

"I didn't see it, Ubbe."

He slammed his boot on the floor as he was pulling it on. Lhyrie jumped at the sound and reached for her tunic, suddenly uncomfortable in her nakedness. "You were jealous of her," he said, pounding his other boot into the floor and looked up at her. "Did you give it to her to miscarry?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Ubbe –,"

"Is my question not justifiable?" He glared at her.

"She had miscarried already. If afterbirth is left in a woman it is deadly. I was helping her, despite what you think as malicious." He scoffed as he pulled his vest on and rubbed his brow. "Ask her yourself if you do not believe me." Another horn blew in the distance. "You are going to be late to the meeting."

He left without looking at her. Despite what she knew was right, Lhyrie was filled with guilt as she was left in the empty house. She was afraid Ubbe would react that way – he was too caring, too invested. Of course, his first instinct when he heard "child" was to be a father, to protect it and the mother, regardless if it was even his. He had had a relationship with Margrethe and therefore any child she could have been with would naturally been his, despite her doubtless abundant partners as a slave. So obviously, Lhyrie was lying and had it out for her.

She wished he would turn rational soon and not let it draw out like her leaving Kattegat. She didn't think she could withstand another rift of that magnitude. And she definitely couldn't stand the house this quiet with the air so stale and unmoving; she needed to leave.

The streets were quiet except a few people wandering the streets, avoiding the Great Hall and Lagertha's announcement same as her. She was curious though, and found herself at the Hall despite. It was overcrowded with people pouring out the doors, peering to hear the low voice of their Queen. But it wasn't Lagertha speaking.

Ivar grumbled and it echoed in the Hall. All Lhyrie could hear was "combat" before a gasp simultaneously resonated in the Hall as a hundred people thought as one. He had challenged Lagertha to single combat. "A cripple," she heard someone huff. Did they not know Ivar? Even if he was hungover and next to dying Lhyrie wouldn't be foolish enough to face Ivar in single combat. But Lagertha wouldn't refuse, she couldn't. But she did.

Lhyrie turned and left before Ivar pulled his way out of the Hall. She could hear the pounding of his stakes as he crawled and with each blow she could see each thrust of his knife into people she cared about in England.

"Lhyrie!" Ubbe called as she quickened her pace. "I didn't mean to be so brash earlier…" She turned sharply on her heel to look at him and crossed her arms. He was trying to make himself look smaller, crouching his shoulders slightly and looking sorrowfully under his brow and therefore more sympathetic. She didn't fall for it and waited for him to continue. "I – I shouldn't accuse you of anything. You just wanted to help."

But he didn't apologize. For someone so caring and remorseful he never apologized or blamed himself. She actually thought about tapping her foot to prove a point but stood there as the rain started to drizzle and pressed her lips together. "I know you care for Margrethe. You still do, don't you?"

It was time for Ubbe to be silent. "I love you. I always have," he said softly.

"Good." She turned hard on her heel as the rain started to fall harder. Thunder rolled as she weaved through the streets to her uncle's – no her – home, now. As she closed the door and leaned against the wall, Ubbe gave a single rap on the wood.

"Are you going to leave me in the rain?" He asked.

"Maybe," she replied with a smile, but tried not to let it show in her voice. The rain pattered harder on the roof and a drop leaked on her nose from a hole she needed to patch.

"Lhyrie…" A soft thud struck on the door. He was leaning with his forehead against it and she desperately wanted to open it quickly to see him stumble. Instead, she let it slowly creak open to see him sopping wet. If he was pretending to be pitiful earlier, there was no faking it now. He looked drowned and bitter in the nearly frozen rain. He pushed crack in the door wider, enough for him to push through and scoop her face in his palms. She tasted the fresh water on his lips and breathed in the rain on his skin. She couldn't be mad at him with his skin pressed against hers.

"You were right. She's building defenses," he said sometime later, cuddled next to her.

"That happens quite a bit, actually, " she said, stroking his hair.

"And Ivar vowed to kill her."

"That's not surprising. Are you? Going to kill her?"

"Eventually…" he pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "But not tonight."


	11. Chapter 11

If there was one thing Ubbe, Sigurd and Ivar could agree on, it was avenging their father’s death in England. Odin, himself, had visited them not long after Ivar arrived home. All his wisdom affirmed the news they already dreaded – Ragnar was truly dead. His sons heard the last words spoken by their father and it gave them persistence, but it hit Ubbe hard. He retreated to the woods and the hunting cabin for a few days, collecting his thoughts in the silence and returned fresh, full of ideas and with hundreds of new arrows.

They needed an army. Not just a large raiding party, but men fueled with anger and hatred like them, to kill two Kings of England. It needed to be larger than the attack on Paris by a thousand men. Lagertha had already granted them permission to house an army for their purpose here in Kattegat but Lhyrie wasn’t quite sure how they would accommodate an army that size. She remembered the army that went to Paris and how congested the city became then. If this army was to be larger than that, it would surely drown Kattegat.

“But how will they get it?” Sigvi asked her one morning as they were strolling the market stalls, shifting her restless infant in her arms to examine goods.

“Ubbe and Sigurd will ride out to Earls and whatever Kings are left,” Lhyrie answered, popping a frozen grape into her mouth from a vendor.

“And you will go with him?”

“I haven’t considered it.” That was a lie, of course. Lhyrie had thought about asking Ubbe for her to come with him for days. She missed traveling and seeing new places. Kattegat, with all its new excitement was even growing dull for her now.

“Oh, but you have to!” Sigvi exclaimed excitedly. “Men need a woman to help negotiate.” Lhyrie sent her a questionable look. “Oh, you know, to flirt and praise. To make the men feel special and rallied for a cause.”

“I’m with Ubbe. I can’t flirt and tease.”

“But it’s expected! Weren’t you at court in Frankia? It’s what the women do.”

“I was mainly in the battlements with soldiers. Not in the tents of the commanders.”

“And I can be your lady-in-waiting!” She squealed again.

“Sigvi -,”

“Ubbe is a son of a King. His companion would be expected to have a lady-in-waiting for travel.”

“Torvi doesn’t have a lady-in-waiting,” Lhyrie stated.

 “You weren’t in Aslaug’s Hall. Torvi might not have had a proper lady-in-waiting, but the slaves flocked to her. I’m sure she has one now with Lagertha on the throne.”

“Anyway,” Lhryie said, shaking her head, “I won’t be going.”

“So, you didn’t learn how to flirt and manipulate in Frankia,” Sigvi teased, “So what did the women teach you?”

“How to heal, of course,” she answered.

Sigvi rolled her eyes. “They didn’t teach you other things?”

“It’s not like I can list them all on the spot. You try to recall every little thing you have ever learned.”

 “It just seems that every man that has gone to Frankia talk of the women there as goddesses. And I see the way Ubbe looks at you… I was just wondering if there was a secret.”

 “Is there something happening with you and Leif?”

 “No, no,” Sigvi rustled her son closer to her as the cold winds picked up, “After Biornolfr, our relationship isn’t quite the same.”

“I don’t think there’s a secret, Sig.”

“Aren’t the Franks… peculiar with their sex?” She asked, growing bright red.

Lyrie laughed and blushed as well. “You could have just asked me that from the start.”

“So… is it true?”

She paused for a moment, trying not to blush too much in the market and lowered her voice, “There are multiple ways they please a man and how they can to you.”

Sigvi giggled like they were teenagers. It felt that way, whispering and blushing about these things. “Have you tried any?” She whispered back.

“No, I haven’t,” Lhyrie answered, trying to suppress a laugh.

“Why not?”

“Can we talk about this away from the market?” She asked, trying to rush Sigvi back to her house and away from prying ears.

“Now do you feel better?” Sigvi asked, as she shut the door behind her.

Lhyrie moved to start the fire in the middle of the room and as the warmth filled the tiny house, she took Biornolfr from Sigvi’s arms so she could warm up herself. The infant’s cheeks were rosy from the cold winds outside but his eyes were bright blue and curious, looking around the house he wasn’t used to in wonder. Lhyrie bounced him playfully on her lap as he giggled and blew bubbles on his lips.

“I can’t wait for you to have one,” Sigvi said smiling. “I’m surprised you are not with one already.”

“I am not married yet.”

“That does not stop some women.”

“And if I do what the Frankish women do, it will be even longer without a child.”

“But you haven’t tried it.”

“No,” Lhyrie laughed. “I’m afraid I’d choke,” she said after a moment.

Sigvi caught her meaning and let out a bellowing laugh that threw her off balance. “I don’t think I would have a problem with Leif,” she said between chuckles. “I thought that would be something only whores would do.”

“It was quite common place in Frankia, believe me. And probably common with the whores here, too.” Biornolfr shifted in her arms and nestled in her chest. Within a moment, he gave a slight snore. “He’s heavy, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost a year soon. Finally starting to crawl on everything.”

“He has your hair,” Lhyrie stated, smoothing out his thin red curls.

“And he farts like his father,” Sigvi stated with a yawn. “Excuse me,” she apologized. “I’m trained to sleep when he does.”

“Then sleep. Take my bed for awhile,” Lhyrie said, pointing toward her bed behind the thin curtain that separated the room. “I’ll watch him.” She gazed down at the sleeping child and rocked Biornolfr gently in her arms. “Maybe it will get me in the mothering mood.”

Sigvi yawned again and slowly made her way toward Lhyrie’s bed. “You’re amazing. Wake me when he does.”

She was surprised how easy a baby felt in her arms, though he was heavy and her arms started to ache after a few minutes, as Sigvi’s breathing turned heavy from her own sleep. Biornolfr’s head rested gently on her shoulder and his red curls tickled her face when she turned toward him. A smile crept on her lips as the thought of her own child resting in her arms flashed through her mind. Perhaps Sigvi was right. She shook her head slightly to rid the fantasy from her mind as she heard someone running down the street outside.

“Our plan is coming together!” Ubbe boasted as he flung the door open, arms spread wide in triumph and a large smile illuminated his face. His blue eyes shined wild with excitement.

“Shhh!” Lhyrie hushed him, putting a finger to her lips and motioning at the baby curled on her chest. Ubbe cocked his head in question and looked first toward Biornolfr and then toward the still sleeping figure of Sigvi behind the curtain.

“What are they –,”

“I said ‘Shh’,” she whispered.

He crossed the threshold and kissed her lightly before gently patting the curls of Biornolfr in her arms. “Like I said,” he whispered this time, “Our plan is coming together. Our first scouts have come back and earls are pledging boats and men for our cause.”

“That’s fantastic!”

“Sigurd and I are going to ride out to the most influential earls tomorrow, to personally see to their pledge.” He plopped on the bench beside her and warmed his hands over the fire.

“Tomorrow? Why so soon?”

“So that this army is assembled by the time Hvitserk and Bjorn return,” he answered simply.

“Where will you be headed? Are you and Sigurd traveling together?”

“No, min is. Sigurd will be traveling to Sweden to talk to Canute. I am headed south to Denmark. Earl Vik is said to have nine hundred men.”

“Denmark?”

He chuckled and smoothed a piece of hair behind her ear. “I will be back before you know it.”

“You will be taking men, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And shield-maidens.”

“Perhaps-,”

“And you’ll need a healer for a journey that far.”

“Lhyrie-,”

“You’ve locked me out of your plans thus far. I can help,” she said, shifting on the bench to look at him more directly. “I spent years with an army.”

“I know,” he said kissing her forehead. “But this is between brothers.”

“What is that supposed to mean? That it is between men?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. We have to figure it out as a family. Ragnar was our father.”

“Yes, I understand that. But do you know how to deal with that many men. To handle an army and to command it? How to fight with it? I do. I have seen it. I’ve been apart of it. The last army you saw was when you were 12 and off to Paris.”

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me, Lhyrie.”

“Apparently I do.”

“Then you must come with me to Denmark,” he said, running his hands through his hair. “But keep talking about battle; it makes me want to have you right here,” he said, kissing her.

“Now look what you did,” she said as she playfully swatted him away. Biornolfr squirmed and whined in her arms, kicking to be let go.

“Here,” Ubbe held out his hands to take the writhing toddler. “Is Aunt Lhyrie bugging you?” He asked him in a sing-song voice and sat him on his hip. She gave a small giggle as Biornolfr tugged on Ubbe’s braid and stuck it in his mouth. He looked so natural with a baby in his arms.

“What time will we be leaving tomorrow?” Lhyrie asked, poking the fire to stir the heat in the small room. Suddenly the thought of Ubbe holding a child, one day their child, frightened her.

“Tomorrow at first light… with the tide,” he said, twirling in a circle as Biornolfr giggled. Lhyrie tried not to look at them. She felt guilty having thought of their future together but now having seen it, she shied away. “You’ll have to bring your best dress. We’ll bring a slave to help you.”

“I don’t need a slave, Ubbe.”

“I need to impress Earl Vik. You must look your best.”

“Sigvi can come and help me.”

“She cannot come. She has this one,” he shifted Biornolfr on his hip and poked his nose playfully. Lhyrie shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

“There are plenty of nursing mothers for a week or two to care for Biornolfr.”

“You have talked to her about this?”

“She brought it up… today actually. And she was one of your mother’s ladies.”

“You didn’t ask me about it before,” he said, more of a statement than a question.

“I thought perhaps I’d be going more as a shield-maiden than your… companion,” she said, wringing her hands to fidget with something. “If I was to go at all,” she added softly.

“You are both,” Ubbe said, placing a wiggling Biornoflr onto the floor and moved to sit on the bench with her. “And you will come as both.”

“Boirnoflr will be covered in dirt,” she said with a smirk as she watched the toddler crawl around her tiny kitchen.

“He can be cleaned. And I will tell Sigvi it was your idea.”

“We should clean him before she wakes.”

“I am already awake,” Sigvi grumbled from the corner where she slept. “Don’t you think I know when my son is getting into trouble?”

“He’s not -,” Ubbe cut off as he ran to grab Biornoflr from sticking his hands in the fire.

“He is being watched,” Lhyrie told her as Ubbe wrestled him onto his lap.

“Go back to sleep. You will need your rest,” Ubbe added. “We leave for Denmark tomorrow.”

A large yawn came from the far side of room and Sigvi stretched awake. “Smart choice, Ragnarsson.”

“Really Sigvi, go back to sleep,” Lhyrie said as her friend rose and yawned again. She grabbed the still fighting Biornoflr from Ubbe’s lap and carried him onto hers. “Your son is fine.”

“No, no,” Sigvi said, peeking out from behind the curtain. “It is as Ubbe said… we leave for Denmark tomorrow and your hair needs washed.”

“My hair is fine,” Lhyrie quipped at her and handed her son to her. “And will only dirty on the journey there.”

Sigvi sat on the bench with them and cradled Biornoflr in her arms. He finally stopped rustling and settled down. “So, who are we visiting?”


	12. 12

She had never travelled by boat for so long. Even as they travelled from town to town for all those years, they always travelled by land. Only to cross from Denmark to Sweden did they use boat, and only then for half a day. Lhyrie discovered she became quite seasick.

"I don't have any ginger," she managed to mumble over the rough seas. Sigvi stayed at her side and smoothed her hair as she leaned over the side of the boat. Mist splashed in her face and cooled her; it felt good, but as the boat rocked once again against the brewing storm, Lhyrie felt her stomach drop and churn.

"Get under the canopy!" Someone shouted as Thor boomed overhead. A squall of seawater smashed against the boat and tumbled in, drenching the deck as lightening illuminated it. In the light for that brief second, the base of the boat looked as though it was made of ice and as it might break under the threat of the storm. Ubbe stumbled toward her and thrust a bucket into her hands. "Under the canopy," he yelled at her again so she could hear over the waves. "You'll be soaked through." Lhyrie handed the bucket to Sigvi as she hurled herself back over the railing.

"Come on!" Sigvi spoke into her ear. "We will drown out here. At least we will be drier under the canopy."

Lhyrie wiped her mouth on her sleeve and groaned at Sigvi, but turned behind her to the small tent assembled at the bow of the ship. Water would still slosh at the floorboards, but the rain pelting them from above would stop. And she would have her bucket.

They estimated it would take less than a day to travel to the earldom of Earl Vik, but as the fair weather of the morning turned to rougher seas and storms, Lhyrie feared that they would never get to their destination. She hoped the Gods would be on their side on the return journey and the voyage to England, and she would need to remember to pack ginger in her bag.

Sigvi guided her by the elbow to the small canopy. They swerved and stumbled around the small boat like they were drunk, which swayed violently as the rain transformed to hail. She was glad she was no longer hanging off the side of the boat now, but instead away from the falling ice as they slipped underneath the thin, but dry, fabric.

"There," Sigvi said, rubbing Lhyrie's shoulders after she handed her the bucket. Two barrels of ale were under the canopy and they sat upon them, grateful there was a place to sit.

"Uh-oh," Lhyrie groaned, as the boat rocked violently and a fresh wave of water swooshed around their feet. Her stomach turned again, worse than before. At that moment, she desperately thought about running back to her perch over the side of the boat. At least out there fresh water and wind cooled her face. The tiny canopy stifled everything around her and was suffocating, making her nausea worse.

"I hope you'll be better on the journey to England," Sigvi said with a laugh.

"Ginger helps with seasickness," Lhyrie said, mostly to herself. She could hear someone, possibly Ubbe, cursing the Gods and she prayed to Thor that he shouldn't take offense. That's all this little boat would need right now.

"Do you know much about Earl Vik?" Sigvi asked. She'd been trying to get Lhyrie's mind off anything other than feeling seasick. It wasn't helping.

"No," Lhyrie said after a time. "But my family and I stopped at his Hall on our way back to Kattegat for a night. He was generous."

"I hope we reach there soon."

"Me, as well."

Somehow, she could feel her eyelids growing tired. She was tired, exhausted to her core from her efforts. Leaning against the rail of the ship, she closed her eyes and, for once today, the lull of the ship did not make her feel ill and she fell into sleep.

"Lhyrie," someone said as they shook her awake. Waves still crashed around them and the smell and pattering of rain still echoed on the canopy, but it had lessened. She blinked her eyes open and she could see sunlight streak around her feet. Finally, the storm had passed. Ubbe was standing above her, his hair a mess and sticking in every direction and his tunic soaking wet. She was shivering under three layers of capes and tunics and the sight of a drenched Ubbe made her shiver more.

"Sigvi should be worried about your hair," she smiled.

"Oh," Sigvi gasped, "it's a mess too. I thought I only had to worry about you!" She said to her, grabbing a fist-full of Lhyrie's hair and tried to comb the tangles out of it.

"So, you're feeling better?' Ubbe asked her with a smirk, trying to dodge Sigvi running in and out of the small canopy.

"Promise me we will have a hundred sacrifices before we sail to England."

"I promise," he said, kissing her lightly on her forehead as Sigvi yanked her hair backward into a braid.

"Sorry!" She shrieked and ran to grab a ribbon.

"Are we here then?" She asked, peeking out the canopy. There were no fjords towering around them here, but flat land and beaches that lined their path. The sun was still shining, but it hung low in the sky, casting yellow and purple flecks across the land.

"We are sailing up the river now. My men say we will be there within the hour perhaps."

"Good, I am starving."

"Yes, there isn't much in your stomach now; it is all in the seas. Here, I will let Sigvi make you ready," he said as she whisked back into the canopy carrying a new gown and he slipped quietly out.

"You will be next, Ragnarsson!" Sigvi called to him, before turning her attention back to her.

Getting dressed in a rocking boat is not something Lhyrie wanted to experience again. On multiple occasions, she could feel her shift poking out of the canopy as Sigvi and her tried to navigate in the small make-shift dressing room.

"I think I'm ready, Sigvi," she said, rolling her eyes as her friend placed yet another necklace around her. She felt as though if she was to fall into the water, she would surly drown under the weight of them.

"No, no," Sigvi muttered under the breath and rushed out of the canopy again.

Lhyrie poked her head out of the small area and onto the rest of the boat. Night had fallen fast on the autumn day and there was a small fire burning in a metal sconce by the mast. Some men were asleep leaning against the side of the boat and their heads bobbed with the waves. Ubbe was one of them, though it seems that Sigvi smoothed his hair sometime between rushing in and out of dressing her. Under the fading light of the day, Lhyrie could spot the settlement they were approaching, ablaze with the last streaks of orange and purple hitting rooftops. A horn echoed across the open water and the men that were sleeping sprung to their feet, the deck alive again with movement.

"Slesvig!" Someone called out with a yawn.

"It's a pretty town," Lhyrie said to Sigvi, who had changed quickly and stood at her side.

"It looks as big as Kattegat," She gasped.

"It is just from the sunlight," Ubbe said from behind them, fully awake now and giving orders to the other men. "More like Kattegat when we were small."

Another horn bellowed as they arrived at the docks. Men in brown and red helped to guide their ship into port, but as one of Ubbe's men tried to get ashore, the men raised their swords against them.

"Who goes here?" One man called as he was anchoring the dragon on the bow of the ship.

"Ubbe Ragnarsson of Kattegat," Ubbe stated, stepping forward toward the man. He had his palms up by his sides, acknowledging he meant no harm and was not going to strike. "We have business with Earl Vik…I sent messengers a moon ago."

Lhyrie was suddenly aware of how threatening their small crew seemed. Every man had a sword, an axe and a shield at their hip. More weapons lined the walls of the ship, affixed by the oars. She, herself, had her small dirk on her hip, much to the displeasure of Sigvi, who seemed to be the only person the ship that which did not look intimidating. But they couldn't possibly think one small convoy of men and women would try to take a town, especially with the numbers Earl Vik said he had.

A man on the docks rushed over the leader at the bow and whispered in his ear frantically. Another horn blew in the distance. The man nodded and eased his grip on the knot he was making. "Of course," he said with a smile. "Earl Vik was expecting you sooner."

"We met storms on the way," Ubbe said joyfully, clasping hands with the man who helped him overboard.

"I hope the seas weren't too rough."

"Ach," Ubbe scoffed, as he took Lhyrie's hand to help her onto the docks. "Most of the crew were fine," he added with a smile at her.

The docks were not all that different than the docks at Kattegat, although they were closer to shore and not so numerous. Buildings and shops lined the beaches adjacent to them that reminded her of home, but the similarities of the two cities faded quickly. Beyond and into the streets, Lhyrie could tell that Frankia and Normandy were close, as the buildings started to take the look of the barracks she was used to in Frankia. The town seemed odd, stuck between being Viking and Frankish. As they neared the center of the city, the Great Hall towered above the rest of the homes and shops. If it was plucked from its spot and moved to Paris, the Hall would blend seamlessly, built of stone and iron. If Kattegat's Hall was like this one, they would be impermeable.

The doors swung open to the dimly lit room. Like most Halls, it was a long rectangular room, and little alcoves lingered on the sides of it, but it was mostly filled with tables, fires and the head chair for the Earl, of which sat a middle-aged man with blond hair streaked with a fading grey. He was dressed sharply, and warmly - he had fur trimmings on his cloak and boots, and Lhyrie lusted for something as warm right then as the winter crept into her bones from a rush of wind as the door slammed shut behind them.

Ubbe opened his mouth to speak, but the dock master shuffled quickly against the stones to his Earl. Whispers drifted back to their group and Ubbe shifted uncomfortably, although they could not make out what was being said.

"Welcome guests!" The Earl exclaimed after the few rushed words with the dock master. He tried to display excitement through his words though his eyes seemed dull and bored. He moved out of his chair as she could only describe as slithering, but not like Ivar does, but with a looseness not associated with Earls or noblemen.

"I am Ubbe Ragnarsson of Kattegat," Ubbe answered as the Earl slowly moved toward them. "I received your word from my messenger. It is good to finally meet you, Earl Vik." He bowed his head somewhat awkwardly. She had never seen Ubbe with another nobleman, nor one with higher status.

A woman passed through a doorway and into the hall. She was young, tall and blonde; a stark contrast to the Earl. "This is my wife," Earl Vik stated, "Princess Ellsif of Tønsberg." She smiled widely and placed an arm around her husband.

"And this is my companion," Ubbe said, ushering her forward to his side. "Lhyrie Heiriksdóttir." She didn't know why but the word _companion_ left an ill taste in her mouth, but she looped her arm in Ubbe's and bowed her head toward them anyway. Torvi was Bjorn's companion and was very well received, so why should she be any different?

"It is good to finally meet you," Ellsif said, still smiling.

"And you," Lhyrie answered. "Your Hall is beautiful."

"I will show you to your quarters." Ellisf held out her arms toward Lhyrie and Sigvi, whose arms were full of bags. She desperately wanted to take a bag from Sigvi's to help her friend, but she glared fiercely at her and cleared her throat: she needed to act like a dignitary, and they did not carry their own luggage. Lhyrie glanced back at Ubbe, who was clasping arms with Earl Vik and himself being escorted toward a bench by the main fire in the Hall.

The rooms Princess Ellsif lead them to were expansive and intricate, more so than Lhyrie had seen before. Gold and bronze were weaved in the walls of stone and cone sconces of fire hung from them. Their shadows danced playfully on the walls, but it made the grey room seem eerie, despite several beds with wolf's fur laid upon them.

"I hope these will be comfortable," Ellsif said, motioning a standstill Sigvi into the room to drop the bags. "They are our rooms. We rarely receive travelers." She looked almost embarrassed saying it. Lhyrie took comfort in the fact the both unfamiliar with the process.

"We shouldn't rid you of your rooms," she protested.

"My husband insists. King Ragnar was good to his family."

Lhyrie gulped hesitantly. Their earldom was successful, no doubt about that, but the immense wealth made her uneasy. Kattegat was strong, renowned and powerful, but not showy. What if Earl Vik changed his mind when he saw them in such simple clothes and wind-blown?

"If you would like to rest and bathe before the feast, I will send in boiled water," Elsif told her, wringing her hands, unsure of what to offer.

"That would be lovely, thank you," Lhyrie answered as their host turned to give the order to a servant.

"By the Gods!" Sigvi exclaimed, once Ellsif closed the heavy wooden door. "This is what Valhalla must look like." She was gaping at the walls and bedding, mouth open wide in disbelief. Her eyes were full of excitement, breathing in the different culture around her.

"It looks almost like Frankia," Lhryie said as two servants carried in a basin of steaming water. "Thank you," she told the servants after they situated the bath in the center of the room. They were silent, but bowed their head toward her, paying no attention to Sigvi turning in circles where she stood. Ubbe appeared in the doorway as the servants scurried out, a wide smile on his face.

"It is successful already," he said, kissing her. He swung her around and wrapped his arms around her tightly.

"He is sending men?" She asked, stepping back to see his face.

"We will talk numbers after the feast, but his family owed my father a debt. This is how he will repay it." He went toward the basin and splashed the warm water in his face. Sigvi scoffed and muttered under her breath, something about fixing his hair. "Rest, Sigvi," he told her. "You have done plenty."

"A lady-in-waiting's job is never done," she said in a singsong voice, digging through one the bags and placing a dress and tunic on one of the beds. Lhyrie's legs suddenly felt the weight of the hard stone under her feet instead of the rocking boat and sat on the edge of bed next to Sigvi to steady them. She wished she had a glass of ale to calm the rush of nerves she was feeling.

"Do they expect us to stay here until dinner?" She asked, rubbing her hands together. "Where are the others?" She had just noticed it was only Sigvi, Ubbe and her in the large room, as it seemed to echo from her words.

"They are drinking already. Warriors don't need lush bedding to sleep on," Ubbe smirked. "Relax, take a bath. They brought water for a reason."

"I feel drowned already, thank you," she replied as Ubbe stripped down and hopped quickly into the barrel of water. Steam swirled around him and he let of a great sigh, huffing the loose strands of hair out of his eyes.

"But it is unlike the hailstorm we sailed into," he said, kicking his feet up and splashing water on the stone floor.

"Winter will be here soon," she said with a sigh. "And the hailstorms will turn to blizzards."

"Summer was good, though," he said with a wink and flicked water at her with his toe.

"Yes, I didn't seem to spend too much time outside," she grinned.

Ubbe peered over at Sigvi, who was still laying out clothes and jewelry on the bed. She seemed off in a trance, fully succumbed to her task and paid them no attention. He moved to rest his chin on the ledge of the barrel. "I can feel the Gods turning winter into our favor. History will talk of this army. Odin has foretold it."

"I think winter will bring more than just your army," she said, moving to bring her legs crossed on the bed. Ubbe cocked his head sharply and raised his eyebrows. He pointed at her and then her belly. A massive smile erupted on his face and Lhyrie was certain he was going to fling himself out the water in one breath. "No, no!" She raised her hands at him. "Not _that_ ," she said, rubbing her stomach. "I'm not with child." Sigvi snapped her head toward Lhyrie at the mention of a child, but her face dropped as quickly as her excitement rose. "I meant… a settlement in England, like you've talked about, like your father talked about. An army of great size can secure that."

Ubbe gave a heavy sigh and pushed himself out the water. "You are right," he said, grabbing the towel already in Sigvi's outstretched hand. "Though I wish you were with child." He planted a light kiss on her cheek before drying himself.

"Ah, little Ubbessons!" Sigvi gasped. "Oh, I can picture them with blonde curls and sea-blue eyes."

A horn blew somewhere in the distance, it was hard to tell where it came from inside the stone walls, but the scuttle of feet and the knock on their door meant the feast must be starting. Sigvi scrambled to get Ubbe into a new set of trousers and a fresh tunic and flatten his hair. Somehow, she even managed to change the cord of his braid. Lhyrie was just happy that the conversation had ended swiftly and that Sigvi had someone else to fuss over. Another horn blew throughout the hall.

"It's time," Sigvi said, lightly pushing Lhyrie and Ubbe toward the door. Lhyrie's nerves started to jump and as Ubbe's arm slipped around her, they rattled more. How was she going to handle them when Kattegat was host to foreign strangers and leaders?

"Ready?" Ubbe gave her a light squeeze as he opened the door for her.

"Not entirely," she gulped.

The Great Hall was transformed from the dimly light room to a hall filled with large fires casting shadows on the walls, tables pushed together draped in silver clothes and goblets freshly filled next to wood plates. It looked vast, and she slightly missed the cozy feeling Kattegat's Great Hall felt like. The room was already overflowing with people and deafening noise. One of the servants motioned toward them and led them to the head table. Earl Vik and Princess Ellsif were not yet seated. They were placed two seats apart, presumably between the Earl and his wife – she hated it.

Another horn blew and Lhyrie wished the dinner would just start, she was dreading it and wanted it over. Without Ubbe at her side she felt naked.

After what seemed like an eternity, Earl Vik and Princess Ellsif emerged from one of the hallways leading off the great room. The entire room went from boisterous noise to silence in a matter of seconds. Even the footsteps of the Earl and Ellsif were silent. Lhyrie shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Earl Vik and one of his soldiers positioned themselves at her side.

"Ragnar Lothbrok was a great man, a great Earl, a great King and a Viking." Earl Vik's voice boomed throughout the hall. It surprised her how regal his voice sounded, after the awkward slithering he met them with. "We have been lucky enough to be asked by one of his sons, Ubbe, to join the fight against the men who murdered this great man. Who will join me on this path to Valhalla?"

It seemed like every man in the Hall stood and clasped their fists to their chests. "I!" They echoed in unison.

"Son of Ragnar will you accept my men to avenge your father?" Earl Vik peered over his wife at Ubbe.

"Odin will smile upon us. Skol!" Ubbe stood and raised his glass toward Earl Vik and smiled. _Skol!_ resonated through the Hall as everyone raised their glasses in harmony. As Lhyrie took a sip of her ale, she felt chills from the loyalty in the Hall. Ubbe had never looked so pleased and it filled her with joy.

As the men took their seats, servants flooded the Hall carrying copious plates of fish, lamb and corn. It smelled delicious and as a servant passed behind Lhyrie to place one of the plates in front of Earl Vik, her mouth started to water. She couldn't remember the last time she was this hungry.

"Lady Lhyrie, will you be joining this army?" Earl Vik asked her, once all the plates had been placed and the familiar sound of spoons and goblets clanking amassed the Hall.

"Yes, I plan to travel to England, though I hope the seas are better. I was quite seasick on our journey here," she answered with a chuckle, taking a bite of salmon.

"Ubbe was telling me you are a shieldmaiden."

"Hardly. I am a healer, but I have training with swords and other weapons. Ubbe likes to exaggerate."

"He is lucky to have a woman like yourself." Earl Vik shifted in his seat to face her more. Lhyrie took another bite of her salmon and gulped awkwardly. Earl Vik had a look like he was hunting. She tightened her grip on her knife and cut another piece of fish. "Ellsif has only known Halls and gowns. It is refreshing to be in the company of a… _simple_ woman." Something about the way he said _simple woman_ left her uneasy; as though she was below him or less than human.

"I assure you, my lord, I have been raised in the Halls of King Ragnar and Queen Aslaug. I can sing and dance and recall poems. But I can also heal and fight." She tried to hide some malice in her voice, as to not seem defensive. She shifted in her seat to give more space between Earl Vik and herself, but the guard to her left seemed to be overflowing into her seat, making her unable to move without seeming too intentional.

"Then you are a rare woman and should be valued." He wiped his mouth after taking a sip of ale and placed his hand on her knee.

Once again Lhyrie shifted in her seat, pressing further against the wood backing. Her first instinct was the stab his hand with her knife, but she set it calmly on the table and took a long sip of her ale, thinking. She peered over at Ubbe who was laughing with man to his right. Ellsif was silently eating her meal, only looking at her plate, looking utterly alone in the massive Hall.

Lhyrie was unsure what to do. She didn't want to insult Earl Vik. If she offended him he would most likely withdraw his offer of an army and their numbers would be lost. She couldn't do that to Ubbe. She also couldn't allow his hand to move any further up her lap, but how could she avoid confrontation without insult?

He obviously liked the idea of her being "simple" or not nobility. By the Gods, if he only knew how "simple" Ragnar's sons were! Yes, they were technically of different class, but they didn't act it. A woman of peerage wouldn't fight his advances as to be polite and passive. Lhyrie scoffed at her own thought. What kind of Viking woman was passive?

But as Earl Vik's hand lingered on her thigh, she shuttered as she felt a hot breath on her neck. The warm and fragrant scents of dinner faded to sweat and dirt. The chair behind her melted away to the soft bellied gut of a man griping her by the waist. She could see the Hall in front of her, the sea of smiling and laughing faces, but the memory of the day by the mountainside lake flashed fresh in her mind. She took another long sip and steadied her breath, pushing the outlines of those putrid men out of her mind. The nerves she once had at the beginning of dinner were gone as she discreetly picked up her fork as to have a bite of food, but placed it at her side, away from the view of Earl Vik. She turned slightly and placed her free hand on his shoulder with a sly smile.

"My lord," she whispered slowly so that he had to lean into her. "Your Earldom is great and your men loyal. But I am also loyal. And if you do not remove your hand from my thigh I will stab my fork into it and proclaim assault, Earl or not." She could hear him gulp but did not move his hand.

"No one has ever spoken to me like that before," he said calmly, but hand unmoved.

"As you said, my lord, I am a simple woman," she said sharply. She moved her fork onto her lap.

Earl Vik snickered nervously and whisked his hand from her lap and into his own. He shifted back and placed his other arm behind his wife. "Ubbe!" He called to him. Her nerves jumped again. Did she just ruin the hard work he's been through? "We must drink. Ellisf!" He clapped his wife on the back. "We need more ale," he said with a smile. "To our women!" He raised his glass to Ubbe as Ellsif pulled her chair back. They clanked glasses and laughed.

"I'll help you," Lhyrie added, pushing her chair back as Ellisf passed behind her. Earl Vik moved to Ellsif's vacant seat next to Ubbe and they knocked glasses again.

"I hope my husband isn't being too much of a bore," Ellsif apologized as they uncovered a few crates of ale. Dust flew around them and Lhyrie shielded her mouth and coughed. She swallowed few words she wanted to tell her.

"He was asking me if I was going to England," she told her, grabbing a crate and nestling in her hip. "Will you be going?"

"I don't think so," Ellsif sheepishly glanced at her. "I know nothing of armies or war."

"Nor do most men. You should come," Lhyrie said as she let the crate fall from her hands. It was heavier than she thought. "Armies aren't just made of warriors. People are needed for food, setting up camp, emotional support. And it would be nice to see a familiar face," she admitted, picking up the ale again. As they carried it back to the head table, Lhyrie tried to hide her labored breath and damp brow. Ellsif was dropped the ale effortlessly.

"Husband," Ellsif leaned over the Earl's shoulder, "Your ale," she pointed at the crates behind him and Ubbe, who was starting to slur his words. "Here," she handed Lhyrie a glass and walked her over to a quiet corner of the Hall, but within view of Ubbe and Earl Vik. "You seem so knowledgeable for someone so young."

"Everyone as their own strengths," Lhyrie stated, taking a sip of their ale. It was sweet and made her lips pucker.

"I know how to sew," Ellsif laughed. "My mother said it was the only thing I knew how to do correctly."

"How funny, I was always terrible at sewing cloth," Lhyrie laughed.

"You can sew other things?"

"Skin."

"Oh!" Ellsif cried, almost spluttering her ale. "Yes, well I guess," she laughed. "I don't think I have a stomach for that."

"Neither did I, at first," Lhyrie admitted, "But I could feel Eir guiding and changing me."

"I have never felt the Gods. I thought I would on my wedding day, but no."

"You will definitely feel Aegir on the journey to England. The sea is not forgiving," Lhyrie giggled into her drink. She made her mental note for ginger once again.

She was surprised how well the night passed talking with Ellsif. Sigvi seemed to hover slightly as the night waned and men and women slipped out of the Hall. She collapsed on a bench a few feet from where Lhyrie and Ellsif were talking. She didn't have the heart to wake her. Ubbe and Earl Vik exploded with laughter every once in a while, huddled with their men.

As the sconces dimmed and fire faded, Lhyrie's head swirled with sweet ale. Ubbe and Earl Vik were clasped with their heads bowed close together. Ubbe was talking wildly with his hands and Ellsif was trailing off on her thoughts and her eyelids drooped lower.

"Morning approaches fast," Lhyrie yawned. "We will be off at first light."

"I will come to England. It will be good to see you again," Ellsif sleepily said, not opening her eyes.

The morning tides were calm and Lhyrie was apprehensive as she stood on the docks. Men were unfurling the sails and they hardly flustered against the orange rising sun. Ellsif had packed ginger in her bag if these seas turned rough. Ubbe, who didn't seem to mind the blaring sun, helped her onto the boat with a grin on his face, ready to mock her seasickness.

"We will see you in two moons time!" Someone shouted from the shore.

Their army had started.


End file.
